I got my car when I was just 16.
A third generation gift I received.
I beat it. I kicked it.
I abused it. I neglected it.
Daily I dreaded its dull, two tone blue.
Like a soccer mom who,
Had two kids it made me appear,
Not a man with four wheels and a future that was clear.
It was a box on wheels, not curve to be seen.
I should have had something flashy, not this obscene machine.
I shouldn’t drive a station wagon that made me look old.
I need a car that was dynamic and bold.
I wanted a car that would go fast.
One that would corner.
Not something that would last.
“Oh why, Oh why” I often wondered
was I cursed with such a dread machine.
It only had 90 horses
85 was the last number on the speedometer seen.

It had no gadgets or whistles or frills or bells.
No modern accessories would stop this hell.
No injectors of fuel.
No ABS brakes.
No computers or CD players.
Or Systems of supplemental restraint.
This car had no claims to fame
Just AM/FM/cassette, a stick, and seatbelts
Tried to make this car great.

As I drove I found this car had some pluses,
It had lots of room, which I used in abundance.
It had four wheel drive and a low profile,
I dashed through the snow when ‘er I could avail.
When the snow fell in Boston,
as a cruel joke of April fool
A Bar-B-Q seemed like the proper thing to do.
While the others were stuck,
Blocked by snow and not moving,
My little blue bomb cut through like a steaming
Iron, that could not be stopped.
We got to the store,
Lots of meat we bought.
And turned a strange, April first bore.
In to a story that seemed fetched and far
Because of the moxy of my little car.

Every so often it needed repair
This is a car after all, not indestructible fare.
It can’t be taken for granted that the repair list was small,
For 17 years it need almost nothing at all:
A water pump, brakes, An alternator or two
A clutch, a battery, what more could I do?
Once the timing belt needed replacin’,
That plus the transmission
and the engine was again racin’.
One thing I can say that must be noted,
At 149K, the car was not smokin’
All the oil stayed where it was supposed to be
I finer engine build I have yet to see.

The comfort of this car is quite revealing.
Compared to new cars where my head hits the ceiling.
The top of the windshield never blocked my view
The seats softly held all of me and of you.
The seats of cloth, never ripped or tore
They probably would have lasted through the days of yore.
My feet were never squeezed or cramped
By the dashboard or under the proceeding seat, trapped.

I think back to my poor POS.
That car had style and that car had class.
Compared to it, new cars seem like such a pain,
They seem to require fuel of high octane
They need to be babyed.
They need fancy service.
Fixing my new car makes me feel nervous.
My old car always seemed so trouble free.
I never worried if it would be there for me.
My poor little car came through in the pinch.
I always started up like a cinch.

It left me with memories
For me it would always wait
My car took me on my first date.
It took me to prom.
It took me to school.
It took me to work.
It took me to play.
It took me to my girl
When she was far away
It took me to things,
Both good and bad.
My car made me happy
It was with me when I was sad.

My car lasted for seventeen years
It finally died in December of last year.
The rebuilt transmission just couldn’t take the abuse.
One of the bearing had finally come loose.
A piece of me died that day.
Something so full of memory had to go away.
There are days that I just sit and wish I could have it back,
But the Toyota factory took a different tact.
They stopped producing this fine automobile
It just didn’t sell, retailers couldn’t deal
My car, god willing, is sitting in some better place.
Having served me and my parents in great faith.

My car is there,
If there is a car heaven,
That wonderful piece
Of Japanese engineerin’