Now that I’ve turned a hundred and two
I find that I’ve gotten more crotchety
What irks me the most are the speed humps
The mere thought of them, I turn all blotchety
I hate slowing down for these beanbags
So I go thirty miles per hour
My SUV clanks like a rusty old tank
And the jolts to my spine make me dour
Plus speed humps are terribly noisy
They make your shocks rumble in pain
We listen to trucks in the early morning hours
The bang-crash-pows drive me insane
They never had speed humps when I was a kid
Only crazies built hurdles on a road
We children were smart and watched out for the cars
And drivers themselves braked and slowed
And why do they now call them speed “humps”?
They were speed “bumps” for most of their years
They’ve changed the wording to blot out the truth
Since “bumping” our cars raises fears
“Speed humps” does sound rather kinky
Like trying to make love really fast
My roommate used to take thirty seconds
Till his sweetheart suggested he last
I hope that they’ll dig up those speed humps
They can ship them off to the Southwest
And build Trump Wall out of leftover humps
Though they may not slow down eager guests
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