D
DaveB
Guest
Oh puncture gods why have you forsaken me
Surely your wrath is sufficient for commuting days three
Flat tyre one, of gigantic proportions
Scared the rowing girls into great screams and contortions
The bang was so loud sent them all into fits
And blew my rear tyre, clean into bits
A long trek gave me blisters on both heels and one thumb
Returned to find my bike pump stolen by skateboarding scum
The kind souls at Peter Moore saved the day
On an old tyre slowly continued home on my way
Day two saw me stranded again on Southbank
Cursing the puncture gods, giving no thanks
An old tube, twice patched, at last had decayed
Two days in a row commuting left me waylaid
Mini-pump gave no pressure, my anger was sore
Thank god once again, a short ride to Peter Moore
Day three of commuting no thoughts of more trouble
How quickly the puncture goods would burst that bubble
Swearing and cursing and heaving a great sigh
See a flat tyre I arrive at work crying "Why God Why?"
Change the tyre after work, new pump works a trick
After plenty of practice I change tubes quite quick
Into the hot afternoon, say "These things come in threes"
But at Kew junction from the tyre hear a terrible wheeze
Surely I must be due one good break
But looking down at the tyre, cry FFS
Had enough by now, the bike ambulance I call
A slow trip home has now completely stalled
With time to wait, in the tyre what do I see
Not one piece of glass, not two, but three
It is true on occasion, the puncture gods I have taunted
But karma has struck and now I am haunted
Bike ambulance fees are becoming too high
My wife has threatened end of commuting is nigh
I promise in my worship I never will falter
And weekly sacrifice new tubes, in my shed, on an altar.
DaveB
Surely your wrath is sufficient for commuting days three
Flat tyre one, of gigantic proportions
Scared the rowing girls into great screams and contortions
The bang was so loud sent them all into fits
And blew my rear tyre, clean into bits
A long trek gave me blisters on both heels and one thumb
Returned to find my bike pump stolen by skateboarding scum
The kind souls at Peter Moore saved the day
On an old tyre slowly continued home on my way
Day two saw me stranded again on Southbank
Cursing the puncture gods, giving no thanks
An old tube, twice patched, at last had decayed
Two days in a row commuting left me waylaid
Mini-pump gave no pressure, my anger was sore
Thank god once again, a short ride to Peter Moore
Day three of commuting no thoughts of more trouble
How quickly the puncture goods would burst that bubble
Swearing and cursing and heaving a great sigh
See a flat tyre I arrive at work crying "Why God Why?"
Change the tyre after work, new pump works a trick
After plenty of practice I change tubes quite quick
Into the hot afternoon, say "These things come in threes"
But at Kew junction from the tyre hear a terrible wheeze
Surely I must be due one good break
But looking down at the tyre, cry FFS
Had enough by now, the bike ambulance I call
A slow trip home has now completely stalled
With time to wait, in the tyre what do I see
Not one piece of glass, not two, but three
It is true on occasion, the puncture gods I have taunted
But karma has struck and now I am haunted
Bike ambulance fees are becoming too high
My wife has threatened end of commuting is nigh
I promise in my worship I never will falter
And weekly sacrifice new tubes, in my shed, on an altar.
DaveB
