Gunga Van
    by Junkyard Keepling

You can talk of being stuck
As you're sleeping in your truck
In campgrounds with a water pipe that flows;
But when you're way out here,
'Neath the stars and sky so clear,
Well, it's something else again when traction goes.
Now in Arid-zona's clime,
Where I used to spend my time
On weekends in the desert off the road,
Of all them off-road crew
The finest one I knew
Was my old Volkswagen Camper, Gunga Van.
        He was "Van! Van! Van!
     "You can make it, yes, you can!!
        "Just slip the clutch,
        "And stick it into low!!
     "You blunt-nosed old Vee-Dub, Gunga Van."

The paint scheme that he had
Was really pretty bad,
And less than what he needed, that's for sure.
But though he lacked for paint,
In his engine, what there ain't
Is something that my money can't procure.
He was made of stronger stuff
Than that plastic modern fluff,
And if a goat could make it, so could he.
And I'd often see surprise
In the young kids' widened eyes
As we clattered past them, stuck as they could be!
        It was "Van! Van! Van!
     "You're not worth the sweat of Man!
        "Use your grip, and grab the dirt!
        "Don't sling it out behind!
     "You worn-out rolling junkyard, Gunga Van."

But the steel can't stand too much,
Of the desert's tortured touch,
A'fore the metal gives it up and has to go.
Yet, holed right through the case,
We still made it back to base,
A'bleeding as we crawled along dead slow.
The damage, though severe,
Looked worse out there than here;
Still it's a cost to bear when'er I can.
And though he's dead for now,
I'll build him back somehow,
An' I'll ride again in hell with Gunga Van!
        Yes, Van! Van! Van!
     You faithful-hearted Gunga Van!
        Though I beat you and I flayed you,
        By the German steel that made you,
     You're a better bus than any, Gunga Van."