My Car

This poem is about my car. I know it's even better than any swaggin wagon by far. Some people hate on my ride, but I look at my granny car with some pride. It gets me from point "A" to point "B" because I hvae places to see. Some people call my car Shamoo or "The Whale" because it's about as big as a whale, but it's not very pale. The Whale is actually a gigantic, gargantuan, color of grey, and when I drive it, it makes my day. It is a big, bad, boat that goes down the road almost similar to a float. My car's so big you might mistake it for a truck, ship, tank, or a bus, but I guarantee you it will leave you in a fuss. I know some of you kids are kealous of my massive granny car I would be too if I had a sporty ar like you. Even though she has over 200,000 miles she still has some style. From a spacious cabin, leather seats, to a system that has some bumping bass, my car looks like it should belong in outer space. Shamoo looks better than any poniac, buick, or Chevelle becuase this car looks like a killer whale. This Chrysler Concorde has some class, but when I pull up to inspection I sure hope it will pass. From the broken windows, ripped seats, to the smelly A/C this car has some soul. Even to all the dents where my aunt had to hit all of those poles. When you turn the A/C on it still has that funky smell. Similar to the smell of a sun baked baby's diaper, which makes me want to YELL! When you turn the heat or A/C on, on the right day it makes a shrill EYYYYYEEE noise. But I keep driving it with some poise. Well this looks like I am about done rhyming about the Whale. So thank you for Listening to me talk about this tale.