hotrodgrany
Well-known member
Twas the night before Christmas when all around that garage,
Naot an engine was rinning, especialy that Dodge.
The wrenches were set in the toolbox, with care,
Expecting the Snap-On guy soon to be there.
The children were sleeping, ticked up in their room,
with visions of big blocks on nitrous going zoom.
My wife in her nightgown, and me in my 'jamas,
Were searching for Mustang II parts, and going bananas.
When out in my yard I heard a low rumble,
I ran toward the window, but thought I would stumble.
Leaping over the parts catalogs...at the window at last,
I opened up the blinds. and the curtians real fast,
With the full moon reflecting on the winter snow,
One could see clearly what was sitting below.
A white/red Cobra II...V8 badge on its fender.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick.
I knew for a Ford guy, this must be St. Nick.
He looked at my drag car, its parts stickers in acclaim,
Starting to get excited, He called them by name,
"Now Edelbrock! Now Hurst! NowTremec and Paxton!
And FMS! and NOS! and Borla and Headman!"
He cruised by my porch, and towards the garage wall
Whoa baby! Whoa baby! Whoa baby, stall.
He then yanked on the E-brake, and started a tailspin,
Stopped by the garage door, and shut off the engine,
He opened the hatchback and what did I see,
A carload of parts, for you and me.
Think a I might, nothing seems any more musculine,
Than the sweet exhaust note of that 302 engine.
I ran to the garage, and through the door I explode,
Already inside was St.Nick, caring his first load.
He was dresed in a red jumpsuit, from his head to his foot
And his cloths were tarnished with grease, oil, and schmut.
Boxes of parts he had flung in a sack,
His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
That Cobra sitting outside, boy it was cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smile,
The normal state for a MustangII driver who has gone over a mile,
He held a part tight in his hand,
That would make my car run anything but blend.
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook as he laughed like a typical Chevy.
He was a chubby and plum, right jolly old elf,
"This guy knows his parts," I said o myself.
A wink of his eye an a twist of his head,
Was the answer to my request for a ride in his thoroghbred.
He spoke not a word, but went right to work.
And filled up my workbench, thenturned with a jerk.
He started out the door, then spoke up at last,
Stick with the Ford's if you want to go fast.
He sat down in his car, and started his rod,
Took off down the road, and gave me a nod.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to a good night!"
Naot an engine was rinning, especialy that Dodge.
The wrenches were set in the toolbox, with care,
Expecting the Snap-On guy soon to be there.
The children were sleeping, ticked up in their room,
with visions of big blocks on nitrous going zoom.
My wife in her nightgown, and me in my 'jamas,
Were searching for Mustang II parts, and going bananas.
When out in my yard I heard a low rumble,
I ran toward the window, but thought I would stumble.
Leaping over the parts catalogs...at the window at last,
I opened up the blinds. and the curtians real fast,
With the full moon reflecting on the winter snow,
One could see clearly what was sitting below.
A white/red Cobra II...V8 badge on its fender.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick.
I knew for a Ford guy, this must be St. Nick.
He looked at my drag car, its parts stickers in acclaim,
Starting to get excited, He called them by name,
"Now Edelbrock! Now Hurst! NowTremec and Paxton!
And FMS! and NOS! and Borla and Headman!"
He cruised by my porch, and towards the garage wall
Whoa baby! Whoa baby! Whoa baby, stall.
He then yanked on the E-brake, and started a tailspin,
Stopped by the garage door, and shut off the engine,
He opened the hatchback and what did I see,
A carload of parts, for you and me.
Think a I might, nothing seems any more musculine,
Than the sweet exhaust note of that 302 engine.
I ran to the garage, and through the door I explode,
Already inside was St.Nick, caring his first load.
He was dresed in a red jumpsuit, from his head to his foot
And his cloths were tarnished with grease, oil, and schmut.
Boxes of parts he had flung in a sack,
His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
That Cobra sitting outside, boy it was cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smile,
The normal state for a MustangII driver who has gone over a mile,
He held a part tight in his hand,
That would make my car run anything but blend.
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook as he laughed like a typical Chevy.
He was a chubby and plum, right jolly old elf,
"This guy knows his parts," I said o myself.
A wink of his eye an a twist of his head,
Was the answer to my request for a ride in his thoroghbred.
He spoke not a word, but went right to work.
And filled up my workbench, thenturned with a jerk.
He started out the door, then spoke up at last,
Stick with the Ford's if you want to go fast.
He sat down in his car, and started his rod,
Took off down the road, and gave me a nod.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to a good night!"
