This poem is about my car.
I know it's even better than any swaggin wagon by far.
Some people hate on my ride,
but I look at my granny car with some pride.
It gets me from point "A" to point "B"
because I hvae places to see.
Some people call my car Shamoo or "The Whale"
because it's about as big as a whale, but it's not very pale.
The Whale is actually a gigantic, gargantuan, color of grey,
and when I drive it, it makes my day.
It is a big, bad, boat
that goes down the road almost similar to a float.
My car's so big you might mistake it for a truck, ship, tank, or a bus,
but I guarantee you it will leave you in a fuss.
I know some of you kids are kealous of my massive granny car I would be too
if I had a sporty ar like you.
Even though she has over 200,000 miles
she still has some style.
From a spacious cabin, leather seats, to a system that has some bumping bass,
my car looks like it should belong in outer space.
Shamoo looks better than any poniac, buick, or Chevelle
becuase this car looks like a killer whale.
This Chrysler Concorde has some class,
but when I pull up to inspection I sure hope it will pass.
From the broken windows, ripped seats, to the smelly A/C this car has some soul.
Even to all the dents where my aunt had to hit all of those poles.
When you turn the A/C on it still has that funky smell.
Similar to the smell of a sun baked baby's diaper, which makes me want to YELL!
When you turn the heat or A/C on, on the right day it makes a shrill EYYYYYEEE noise.
But I keep driving it with some poise.
Well this looks like I am about done rhyming about the Whale.
So thank you for Listening to me talk about this tale.