The Twenty Hoss-Power Shay

You have heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay     That was built in such a logical way     It ran a hundred years to a day.     And then, of a sudden, it up and bust,     And all that was left was a mound of dust?     Holmes, O. W. told it well     In a rhyme of his, what there was to tell,     But the one-hoss shay wasnt one, two, three     With a vehicle once belonged to me.     One hoss? No, sir! Not six nor nine,     Twenty there were in this rig of mine!     Twenty hosses as tough as rocks,     All caged up in a sort of box     That stood jist back of the forward wheels!     Right! She was one of those automobiles     With twenty hosses bottled inside,     Hosses that not only pull but ride!     Wonder what Holmes would have had to say     If the mare had rode in his one-hoss shay!     I reckon the shay would have logicked out     Before the century rolled about.     Well, this big touring car, I say,     Was built just like the one-hoss shay,     Some dependable, logical way,     Flipflaps, dujabs, wheels and things,     Levers, thing-gum-bobs and springs,     Hub, and felloe, and hoss-power chest,     One part just as strong as the rest;     So logic is logic, as Holmes would say,     And no one part could first give way.     Wonderful vehicle, youll admit,     With not one flaw in the whole of it;     As long as I had it, I declare     I hadnt one cent to pay for repair,     It couldnt break down because, you see,     It was such a logical symphony.     Now for my tale. Were not so slow     These days as a hundred years ago,     And its like enough that the one-hoss shay,     Ambling along in its sleepy way,     Should creep a century thout a break,     But nowadays we aim to make     A pace that is something like a pace,     And if that old shay got in our race     It would stand the pressure twenty days     And go to the home of played-out shays.     Logic is logic. Just figure this out,     For I know just what Im talking about:     If a one-hoss vehicle, genus shays,     Will stand our pressure twenty days,     Then, vice versa, a twenty-hoss shay     Should stand the pressure just one day;     Well, mine is a logical automobile,     From rubber tire to steering wheel.     I bought it one morning at just 10.42,     And the very next morning what did it do,     Right on the second, but up and bust!     Talk of the old shays pile of dust,     Thats not logical; my mobile     Vanished completely! Brass and steel,     Iron and wood and rubber tire     Went right up in a gush of fire,     And in half a minute a gassy smell     Was all I had left by which to tell     I ever owned a touring car,     And then that vanished, and there you are!     End of my twenty hoss-power shay.     Logic is logic. Thats all I say.