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Autoshite Christmas hymn


Squire_Dawson

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We three louts, of Great Britain are,

One in a Hillman, one in a Saab,

One in a Datsun watching his floorpan,

Merrily roving we are.

 

O-oh car of wonder, car of shite,

Car of rusty shite-ness, quite,

First gear seeking, traffic beeping,

Why on Earth did I buy this shite?

 

One in silver, one in gold,

What's this Rover's colour code,

Is it steaming, yes it's steaming,

Give me some K-seal then, my friend.

 

O-oh car of wonder, car of shite,

Lacquer peeling suits you right,

Petrol's going, shite's a-slowing,

Why on Earth did I buy this shite?

 

Twenty pence in the handbrake, then,

Somebody stole my gearbox, when

I went to take it, seller faked it,

Curse these ebay jebends, men.

 

O-oh car of wonder, car of shite,

Would a Vauxhall suit you right,

No sir, go sir, oh how dare you,

Why on Earth did I buy this shite?

 

Once a Wartburg, never again,

Like a Renault it never went,

Smoke and noises, dodgy electrics,

I had to call the AA.

 

O-oh car of wonder, car of shite,

Battery's draining over night,

Start in the morning, no, you're walking,

Why on Earth did I buy this shite?

 

I'll get there, now that I know,

Buying on finance's the way to go,

No cash waiting, Beemer's a great thing,

Audi's the best car in the world.

 

O-oh car of wonder, car of shite,

Always will I drive this shite,

Merry Christmas Auto-shiters,

Please keep fettle-ing your shite.

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A weighed-in Range Rover,

a Princess in red.

The shite-lords of Britain

are easily led.

 

Mercedes for buttons,

with terminal rust.

Freelander head gaskets

too easy to bust.

 

From Detroit a V8

makes music so sweet

compared to the diesels

that infest the street.

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A Visit From St. Christopher

by K.M. Belt

 

'Twas the night before Christmas,

and all in the sled

knew no drivebelts were turning,

'cos the engine's stopped dead.

 

The stockings were hung

on the ariel with care,

in the hope that the AA van

soon would be there.

 

So Ma in her wellies, and I in my gloves,

both got behind it, to give it a shove

to the hard shoulder of the road

of life as it were,

to pray to St. Christopher,

same as before.

 

Since out of the engine bay

There had come such a clatter,

I threw open the bonnet

to see what was the matter.

 

When through all the steam

I was able to see--

that the dreaded, overused* OMGHGF

had happened to me.

 

The fannymould was red hot,

and it gave such a glow,

by which I could see

the dreaded oil slick below.

 

A bid for freedom was made

by a piston or two,

leaving a hole in the block

One could drive a truck through.

 

The cambelt had broken,

So the time was quite ripe

for discharging the bits

through its own exhaust pipe.

 

When out of the fog,

Driven that way and this,

came a turdblower diseasel:

Behold, it's St. Chris!

 

Bringing hot tea and cocoa

and spares galore:

"It's 'done a Peugeot' you say?

I've not heard that before.

 

It wants towing, you see,

No doubt about that,

I'll call you a tow truck

Oh, and here's your hat.

 

It's hard luck, old chap,

But trust me I'm right--

'Cos I'm telling you now,

that ALL VOXHAULZ R SHITE."

 

 

Happy Chrimbo holidaze and Merry New Year, me fellow shiteists!

 

 

*not really OKINNIT.

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