Junk In The Trunk
We believe it was the great poet Sir Mix A Lot,
Who sounds like a knight but likely was not,
Who sung of a love, way down deep inside,
For a hefty caboose, his fondness he couldn’t hide.
So, in honor of him and his ridiculous song,
Upon the sight of our delivery truck, we will unfettered-ly fawn.
It hustles around town, to, here, there and fro,
One view of its back end and you suddenly know,
Great Divide beer on the move, to your store and your ‘hood,
Springing forth from whence, nothing comes but good.
When you see this beauty rolling through town,
Give it a “Daaaaaaaamn,” with the window rolled down.
Because, in the realm of spectacular derriere,
Our truck’s competitors simply don’t compare.