If I hit another deep pot hole,
I know my suspension is through.
How I rave every day,
As velocity dwindles away,
And make loose all of my screws.

I wish they made roads last forever,
I hate these conditions, thank you.
They pave every day and the measure is when,
Again, they must mend them anew.

But they never seem to use enough lime,
There seems to be strings attached to,
They blame climate.
I drove around enough and so,
There's certain roads that I won't blow,
My dime with.

I once had a box full of dishes,
It seems now that I need some glue.
The road was so bumpy,
It made me so tremory,
Those dishes so trashed they're so through.

But they never seem to use enough lime,
There seems to be strings attached to,
They blame climate.
I drove around enough and so,
There's certain roads that I won't blow,
My dime with.