Saw an old Land Cruiser sittin’ in out the weeds
Thought she’d be a quick project, fulfill all my needs
She looked rough from the outside, beat up and worn,
But I still saw the beauty in the Iron Pig form.
52 years old with the 2F still running'.
But every bolt’s seized and the rust is straight gunnin’.
The fenders are wavy, the rockers: half-bent,
and the floor has more holes than a government tent.
They said “it’s a Toyota, she's still in the race!”
but I spend every weekend with rust in my face.
Now I’m lost on 'mud, and it's past 2 AM again,
updating my build thread and slingin' mud in the pen.
Page one of my thread says “check the clutch linkage first,”
on page seven I’m welding, on page twelve I feel cursed.
By page twenty-two I’ve forgotten the reason I came,
just another lost soul adding fuel to the flames.
Five thousand dollars sounded noble and wise,
a wise man’s budget, I would not be surprised.
Now that number feels like a joke told unto myself,
as I bleed out my savings buying parts for the shelf.
One day I'll turn the key — 2F coughs and then roars
a deep guttural song that cuts straight to my core.
Eased onto the back roads, dust trailing behind,
the endless repairs fade, driven far from my mind.
Windows half-down, road washed out ahead
She rattles and shakes, the tires dig in the tread,
clawing for purchase on the loose gravel groove,
old 2F roaring like it has something to prove.
We'll make it, and then, my face wearing a smile,
My problems will fade, mile after mile.
Dust and pine needles swirled in a victorious cloud,
and mile after mile I’m feeling damn proud!
This pig is my steed, and I'm riding in style,
On that golden morning… it will all feel worthwhile.
