I Love My Hot Rod Because It's Dumb
Been a while so here goes:
In this modern day and age.
When Artificial Intelligence is all the rage.
Even my toaster is smarter than me.
It has an I.Q. of a hundred and three.
If I have a furniture idea.
Alexa will report it to IKEA.
Bought a new car the other day.
The 600 page manual blew me away.
Does my car have to be this smart?
To make the trip to the local Walmart?
So much computer power in new cars
You could fly 'em all the way to Mars.
Speed control, lane control automating stopping.
Wish it could keep my wife from shopping.
Keyless entry, security sentry, back up TV.
The car drives itself, it hardly needs me.
Sixteen speakers of HiFi sound.
Digital features all around.
Just because you sit behind the wheel.
Anymore you aren't a big deal.
All of this is called automotive progress.
I love my Hot Rod, it has so much less.
My Hot Rod sits in place of honor.
In the shop, not a speck of dust on her.
It takes her and me to make her go.
Whether to the store or to a show.
Turn a chrome handle to open the door.
Adjust the seat, lever near the floor.
Pull the choke, pump the gas.
Push the starter button, she responds with sass.
Let her warm up for a bit.
When those ponies are ready she will really git.
Push the clutch pedal to the floor.
Move the shift lever like I've done many times before.
Just a little sound of gears meshing.
Driving my Hot rod is such a blessing.
Roll down the window with the crank.
Air conditioning! I have Nature to thank.
On the road now going sixty.
The sight, the smell, the sound, sure is nifty.
A little vibration through the floor.
The rumbling exhaust I do adore.
The feel of the road through the steering wheel
This is what driving is, this is real.
Oh what pleasure I get from my Hot Rod car.
But the new one is better, better by far.
Yes, it's almost perfect, it meets every goal.
But unlike my Hot Rod, it has no soul.
