There’s a white van on my bumper,
Yet I’m driving at 80,
Mph not kilometres,
Yet he’s doing 93.
Mobile glued to his ear,
He’s rolling up a fag,
When he eventually overtakes,
He calls my wife a ‘slag.’
I thought, ‘I won’t stand for that,’
I’ve got to get him back,
Covertly I followed him home,
Armed with my handy baseball bat.
I’ll get to teach you white van man,
I will show you what for,
Determined to make my point,
I knocked upon his door.
“How dare you call my wife a ‘slag,’
What’s that all about?
I’m inviting you outside now,
Where we can sort this out.”
Yet he told me to, “Piss off now,
Unless you want a thump,
I’ll clobber you good and proper,
You’ve given me the hump.”
Not too pleased with his riposte,
I lamped him there and then,
And said, “That’ll teach you my son,
Not to mess with proper men.”
Then I took my handy bat,
And smashed in his windscreen,
His hub caps and his dashboard,
It was quite a scene.
Forlorn, white van man lay there,
Prone and on the floor,
Yet he took a parting shot,
When he said, “Your wife’s a ‘whore.’”
“Is there no stopping you?
Do you have no regrets?”
He then added, “I should have mentioned,
I suffer from Tourettes!”
My apologies to any person reading this and suffering from Tourettes.