MY OLD HEARSE

When thumbing through the papers on the lounge or on the dunny

And you wonder why the Pommie poet has not written something funny

My friends I'll tell you why the Pommie scribe has given up his writing

It's because another love has filled my life who's charming and exciting

For twenty years I've lived with Doreen and never heard her curse

Untill one day in June I said "I've gone and bought a veteran hearse"

"A bleeding hearse,a bleeding hearse" she screamed in mock derision

I'll have no hearse parked in the drive that's my first and last decision"

I crept and crawled,gave her some bull and looked all pale and weak

"I'm sorry dear you have no choice,it's coming home next Thursday week"

"Allright you win but I'll compromise" she said amidst her coughing

I'll draw the line, and that’s for sure in the back there will be no coffin

I brought it home stuck on a truck,the cab all old and musty

The tyres were gone,the engine dead,the running boards were rusty

But to me she looked an angel,and although Doreen was screaming

I imagined what it would be like with all the brasswork gleaming

So at dog shows I can't be found carrying gear and all that caper

It's because I'm rubbing down the hearse with wet and dry sandpaper

And if one day at a dog show,a hearse pulls up,all black

Doreen will climb out of the front and the dogs from out the back

And maybe at one of the open days I'll put on my top hat and frown

I'll give rides to all my doggie friends standing up or lying down

But less of this frivolity and down to the nitty gritty

I'm restoring a piece of history ,besides being very witty