If one resides in a rural area anywhere
You can be absolutely certain a tractor will be there.
They are there to be seen on roads and lanes,
Mostly driven by fat folk who don’t seem to have brains,
Although, to be absolutely fair,
Perhaps a brain could well be there,
But they are folk who look somewhat retarded,
In their tractor they bounce along on bottom well larded,
Invariably they have very chubby red cheeks,
With curved noses, resembling cockatoo beaks.
Should they be men they’ll have whiskers growth,
Even tractor women, shaving, they seem to loathe,
Although, some clearly have such a need,
But in rural areas this vanity they don’t heed.

So as tractor drivers bounce along on their big fat tyres,
Along field or road, with bobbing bellies amid briers.
Decked out in dirty work clothes and sweat drenched hat,
Just driving straight over any cow pat,
It seems that they love their rural calling,
In weathers both sunny and pleasant, or just appalling.

Horace Leadbottom was no detractor,
Of anything to do with a tractor,
In Ohio he had his old diesel work horse,
Used for harrowing, ploughing and, of course,
Bouncing along country lanes,
Sometimes without looking for trains,
At the level crossings out there,
People would stop, amazed, and stare,
As he pulled back and forth on the steering wheel,
Never looking stable, or on an even keel.
Knees either side of the engine cowling,
And high geared engine, loudly howling.

Now Horace had a lady friend named Minnie-Lou.
She occupied Horace’s thoughts, whatever he’d do.
In order to impress her he’d need a far better tractor,
No other vehicle type would do. Horace wasn’t a tractor detractor,
So he arranged to have, as they say in the trade,
A very special tractor, entirely Custom Made.
He had a special cab made, just two seated.
A unique device was included, so it could be heated.
On the rear vision mirror he hung two corn cobs,
And he further decorated with varied thing-a-me-bobs.
He donned his just washed lumberjack shirt.
He put on his best straw hat, no dirt.
It had only a few sweat marks on the brim.
He considered himself to look rather trim.
The lunch he packed was light, he didn’t want indigestion,
For, this very day, he planned to pop the question!
Minnie-Lou had indicated that she liked his style,
As he had driven her, bouncing, mile after mile.
This had been in his working tractor,
On which, standing up had been a factor,
Because only one seat it had,
Uncomfortable? Yes. But not so bad.
Now he had his new tractor. Custom Made.
And so, to pop the question, he was not afraid.
As he knelt by the huge tractor wheel,
He thought he must exude a certain sex appeal.
As he blurted out, “Minnie-Lou, will you marry me?”
(He really should have waited until they’d had tea)
She shook her head saying, “Of your tractor you are so fond,”
“How could I possibly come between such a bond!”
“No, you must stay with your one true love.”
“Sadly, there is no room for me to be your turtle-dove.”