Posted on March 18, 2008 - by Jordan H

Vauxhall Corsa Poem

Chugging along the motorway, running out of fuel;
Driving around in a car like this isn’t really cool.
Because my Vauxhall Corsa is the car I really hate
Never getting me there on time – always making me late

Stuck at Faro Airport, waiting for our car
The hire shop was unhelpful, but then they went too far.
They gave us a Corsa to ferry our way there
With four cases and four people, they didn’t have a care

We struggled down the motorway, stuck up in the back
Seatbelts too tight to handle, not allowing any slack.
Suitcases pounding down, on our feet and knees
Where is all the boot space? Or is this car just trying to tease?

The car itself looks plastic, a huge plastic sphere
Looks like it was made in some really ancient year
It looks worse than a tin can, the paintwork doesn’t shine
And the designers back at Vauxhall think they’ve done just fine.

So I’m just going to rest now, and take a big step back,
If they don’t outsell Renaults, then I’m a happy chap.
Only when I turn 17, and I decide to buy a car,
I’ll leave the Corsa well alone, and I’ll buy a Jaguar!