Tin Lizzie

My Dad lay claim to writing this poem, which sings some of the praises and
problems of the old Model T Ford.

I must admit that I’ve always thought he was joshing me about this one, I have
no real reason to believe he didn’t write it, he certainly wrote some other good poetry.

Perhaps he had a twinkle in his eye at the time he first told me he wrote it, I don’t recall.

I have searched the web extensively in case somebody else was making a claim
for it, all to no avail, I’m sorry Pop for doubting you, it’s your poem.

Tin Lizzie

I brought home a second hand Lizzie

Oh it fair knocked the old woman dizzy

She kept sayin’ to me

What might that thing be?

Till I told her it was a Tin Lizzie.

The bloke reckoned that she was a snorter,

So that was the reason I bought her,

She’d run for a while,

Say about a mile,

Yet she don’t seem to run like she oughta.

Since I bought this second hand fliver,

I keep sayin’ to myself well I never,

She’ll run down the hills,

She’ll run up the bills,

No wonder I’ve got a crook liver.

I was fixin’ the old carburetor,

I thought that might make her run better;

When the wife says, “look out,

Or she’ll blow us both up”

I said, “if she wants to, then let her”.

At this the wife gets a bit crazy,

When she’s wild she’s a daisy,

She said, “look out”

And gave me a clout,

My brainbox still feels a bit hazy.

So I took her back to the bloke where I got her,

And I told him that he was a rotter;

He said, “cut out that stuff,

Or I’ll handle you rough,

The car was all right when you got her”.

So after a bit of a barter,

He said, “well I’ll come out and start her”

He cursed this and that,

And he tore off his hat,

He said, “strike me pink she’s a tarter”.

After two hours puffing and blowing

We managed to get old Lizz going,

We went for a run

Well she fair took the bun,

For we couldn’t see where we were going.

He said there was nothing to match her,

Well I’m sure there was nothing could catch her,

For she fair took the bit in her teeth,

We ended up underneath;

And it would take 3 new Lizzies to patch her.

Mervyn Holt 1911 - 2002