Bus lane bounders

I’m sitting in a jam
And it’s furious I am,
Watching cars fly down the bus lane at great speed.
My brake pedal’s on the floor
For a quarter hour or more
And I feel I’m getting very mad indeed.

I’ve no problem sitting pretty
In the centre of the city
If I knew that everybody did the same.
But to watch them all fly by
Makes me hang my head and cry.
Do these people not possess an ounce of shame?

Of course no traffic cop
Jumps out to make them stop
And give these ******* ******* their desserts.
They just speed on blithely by
With a twinkle in their eye,
And Lord, I’m telling you, it truly hurts.

Of course I have been tempted
To join in with those exempted,
Succumbing to what jealousy induces,
But I know that I’d be caught
By a most officious sort
Who wouldn’t give a fig for my excuses.

So I’ll sit here in this traffic
With my language strong and graphic
As all around poetic justice flounders.
And my engine will be boiling
And my gaskets will need oiling
As I observe these brazen bus lane bounders.