Parking Spaces

Bob Rivers Comedy Group

(Parody of Good King Wenceslas)

Parking space is hard to find, during Christmas season.
Looking all around the lot, some place you can squeeze in.
When you finally find a place, you'll be disappointed,
It's set aside for handicap, specially anointed.

(This one's marked for compact cars, not my big rear ender.
Some Yugo owner's shopping cart, scratched our Caddy's fender. Egad!)

When that Beemer cuts in front, swerving while you linger.
Peace on earth, good will to men,
Put down that middle finger.

(Oh, look! He's waving at us. Hello my good man, hello. Hello. Is he from the yacht club, dear? I don't know. He's signaling something. No, no. You're number one; you're number one. Oh, how lovely.)

Parking space is hard to find, in the Christmas season.
All you do is drive around, no one's ever leavin'.
When you finally reach the store, your heart is filled with sorrow.
They kill the lights and lock the doors.
(Sorry, we're closed up already.)
Try again tomorrow.
(Oh, please let me in.
Sorry, lady.
But I finally found a parking spot!
Really?)
Come again tomorrow.
(Congratulations!)