A poem by a random person about manual transmissions

graverobber- It says Loud Pipes Save Lives is the author

Automatic transmissions now are the norm
But that or a stick shift? my heart is quite torn
When stuck in traffic, a slushbox is great
but when it gets twisty I'd kill for a gate
Many a clutch pedal, it's true I have worn

With so many two-pedal cars on the road
and so few with a clutch now being sold
The day will come, more soon than you know
when no one knows how, the gears they should row
Not even those who are very very old

So when the zombie horde descends on us come revelation
And only an old Chevy stake-bed will be the salvation
But at the last minute, a call emanates out of the crowd
Can anyone drive stick? Don't be shy, don't be proud
Your skill will bring us joy and elation

We need a clutch master
To end this disaster
But sadly that skill has
Gone the way of the Mercury Topaz
And so they'll be eaten, all the faster

But you will escape
Having your brains made like steak
Because you can row gears
Just like ol' Rick Mears
having learned how to do so from books-on-tape

And Darwin will prove right
As the zombies own the night
eating auto-trans users
and sedan-driving losers
While they attempt a gear-crunching flight

So make haste to gain knowledge
Maybe a night class at college
To learn how to operate
A manual transmission before it's too late
Because it's better to live to a ripe old age

If not, zombies just might
come out this all-hollows night
And seek out your gray matter
and your blood they will splatter
But if you can drive a stick, you'll end up alright