Sir Beeps-a-lot, Sir Beeps-a-lot,
your grader is a wonder
of brute strength over nature
where she’s got us all snowed under.
I love your marvellous machine
That leaves the avenue so clean.
The graceful arc, the pirouette
as front wheels leave the ground,
your full weight on the blade
makes a loud and scraping sound.
Which invades my REM
at approximately four a.m.
You are so cautious careful
Whenever you reverse
You beep, and beep, and beep, and beep
to warn us to disperse.
But I don’t think you have to dread
‘cause most of us are home in bed.
Don’t get me wrong, I am a fan
of your fine machine
as you drop your blade and scrape away
what Mother Nature leaves.
But next time, Sir, what do you say
to arriving later in the day?
And now you’re gone, the snow’s piled up
all neatly in a heap
I’ll miss you, dear Sir Beeps-a-lot,
But I will not miss your beep.
And as I tossed, deprived of sleep,
I’m sorry I called you a creep.