Fix My Flat

I think I have to go fix my flat,
I’m on the freeway and it’s auto combat;
if I ever get out of this,
I’ll seek a new format.
F-F-F-F-F-F fix my flat,
I’m very scared that I’ll become a stat;
If I ever get out of here,
I’ll stay at home and chat.

I got no beef against the freeway,
I know that it’s a transportation mainstay;
but now I’m frightened so I call to Yahwey,
I’m sure He knows it too.
I got no kick against the cars that speed,
I know that it is progress--that I’ll concede;
but from now on I think I will be taxied,
or paddle a canoe.

But now I’m going to fix my flat,
within the roar of traffic I’m a doormat;
in this bumper-to-bumper world,
they’re handing me my hat.
F-F-F-F-F-F fix my flat,
with trepidation I am standing pat;
all this roaring thunder next to me,
with Jack I’m up to bat.


(Lines; 24) Writer’s Cramp; October 23, 2011