The Legend of “Old Paint”


Pennsylvania vanity plate 343-NYC.
Image via Wikipedia

Smoke
billowing from the tailpipe,

A muffler
with thunderous roar,

The world
knew I was arriving,

Three or
four blocks before,

 

The paint
and chrome were rusty,

The license plate clung to a wire,

The
neighbors all made bets,

On when the
car would catch on fire,

 

“Old Paint”,
I affectionately called her,

And oft gave
her a tender slap,

My friends
all politely inquired,

“When are
you getting rid of that claptrap?”

 

They were
embarrassed by “Old Paint’,

As she sat
next to their shiny steeds,

“Don’t
laugh, I’ll race any of you,

“Old Paint”
was built for speed,”

 

It took some
time for them to calm,

They laughed
and rolled on the ground,

But when I
revved her they stepped back,

She was the
hottest car in town,

 

You think I’d
race their souped up cars,

That didn’t
even have names?

But probably
what held me back,

Was when “Old
Paint” burst into flames,

 

I guess I
was wrong concerning “Old Paint”,

Bragging how
fast she could be,

But the
legend grows about that night,

And how she
burned with me,

 

I escaped in
a cloud of smoke,

So don’t
worry or think I fried,

When “Old
Paint”” lit up the sky,

I was the
only one who cried,

 

A sad ending
for such a noble steed,

The night I hotfooted
it out of town,

“Old Paint”
claimed her piece of glory,

Her flames
brought City Hall to the ground.

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