The little cars so popular today can present a tight problem for those couples with amorous leanings. In fact, for a twosome to have leanings in any direction without colliding with windshield, dashboard, steering wheel, cigarette lighter or gear box is a devilishly difficult feat. Herewith, then, some sporty verse on the cuts and bruises of outrageous fortune in a sports car.
A guy, with a babe, in a Fiat Said: "Where in the hell is my key at?" When he started to look, She uncorked a right hook: "That's not where it's likely to be at!"
Said Bill of his miniscule Minor: "For petting it couldn't be finer, But for love's consummation The wagon called station Will tend to make matters supiner."
Walter, who drives a Renault, Claims the car has one serious fault. When he says, "Josephine, Please jump in my Dauphine, "She will vault, but will halt, short of Walt.
Sid sat in his little old Lloyd, Distressed and a trifle annoyed. His attempt at seduction Brought the car to destruction And made him appear most absoid.
There once was a fellow named Flagg, Used to prowl in his jaunty new Jag. When he'd find one that would They'd climb out on the hood, The better to zig and to zag.
On spotting a pair in a Porsche The drunk stood and watched their contorsche-'Ns awhile and then said, Slowly shaking his head: "They'd do better while riding a horsche."
A fellow from old Copen hah gen Made a girl in his tiny Volkswagen. The price was quite high: The shift in his eye, And a slash from the dash on his noggin.
And then there's the fellow from Hades Who tried out a bright red Mercedes. He said: "This is swell. I'll use it in Hell To torment all the knaves and their ladies."
There once was a fellow named Brett, Made a lass in his classy Corvette. We know it's absurd, But the last that we heard They hadn't untangled 'em yet.
