Christmas Poem

[budnate]

Wylie over on a rod site gets credit for righting this himself


THE MOUSE THAT ROARED....


Twas the night before Christmas and all through the garage,
Not a creature was stirring, not even my Dodge.
The tools were all hung on the wall with care,
With hopes in the morning they'd still be all there.
With Ma in my t-shirt and I in my shorts,
I was doing some headwork,polishing ports.
I almost was finished and ready for bed,
And the visions of Rodecks that would dance in my head.
When all of a sudden I heard such a blast
I thought it a Hemi- or something else fast.
I jumped to my feet and ran out the back door,
To see what the hell could make such a roar.
It sure sounded bad, so I ran for the coupe,
Tripped on a crankshaft and broke the hoodscoop.
Dazed and confused I looked up in the night,
And my eyes beheld an astonishing sight.
Two four barrel holleys, a big tunnel ram,
Two o two heads and a big roller cam
Lakewood ladders, an Alston cage,
It had all the parts that now are the rage.
With centerline wheels, a mag for the juice,
I knew it could turn every which way but loose.
The little old driver was all primed and stoked,
I knew in a moment that this was no joke.
He looked like the Grump except hair of white,
And screeched to a halt there in the night.
He threw out a bag and it fell to my feet,
And said with this you'll never be beat.
As I stood there looking with a dumbfounded stare,
He sidestepped the clutch and no longer was there.
I took the bag, stashed it in the garage,
And soon forgot about the old Dodge.
For days on end in the shop I would hide,
And began on building the ultimate ride.
Toiling all day and into the night,
Twisting on bolts, torqueing them tight.
Cranking parts on, tight with brute force,
'till in came my wife and wanted divorce.
I said don't begrudge the dreams of your man,
Now under the car and tighten the pan!
After hours on end it finally was done,
And now I could actually hear the thing run.
I twisted the key, pumped on the gas,
It gave out a cough and let out a blast.
We rolled in the street, laid on the throttle,
Hooked up the tires and then hit the bottle.
The tach swung on over, it screamed out its guts,
You could tell that this bitch was built to the nuts.
I knew from now on with my Dodge I'd be bored,
Because I now owned the Mouse That Roared.
So if your belief in Christmas dreams burst,
Just look in the shop- mines there with a Hurst.