Marcus
Well-known member
Dear FordBarner's: My apologies in advance for syntax and spelling errors: still dealing with a detached retina - but that changes NOT my wishes for you ALL to have a Merry Christmas and a Wonderful New Year!
T'was the night before Christmas, and out in the shed,
The '47 Flatfender was covered, from its wide whites to its head.
And I had just sampled hot chocolate, you know why,
Hoping that Old Santa Claus soon would come by.
Flathead owners were nestled all snug in their beds,
While Shelby race cars danced in their heads.
I and my Loved One, forever to keep,
Had both cuddled up for a long winter's sleep.
When out on the street there came such a roar,
I sprang from my bed to see what was in store!
I flew to the window and opened the blind,
Not knowing at all, what I would find.
The moon on the pavement shown like daylight below,
As wonder and amazement made my eyes grow.
For down on the street approaching the stoop,
Came a jolly Old Man in a '32 three-window coupe.
This little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
Faster than lightening, with engines he came,
And he honked and he flashed and he called them by name:
Come small blocks, come big blocks, come flatheads, come fuelies;
With Holleys, with Carters, both singles and duellies;
To the top of the tach, redline one and all,
Now rev'm up, rev'm up, we gotta haul!!
Like a tank full of nitro will make a car fly,
When the blower is set with the boost up too high.
So up the driveway that smokin' '32 flew,
Loaded with parts and accessories, too.
Red paint on the tin, such sparkle, such shine,
The lines smooth as silk, the leather so fine.
The wheels so wide, the tires so fat,
And "run flat" design with no chance of a flat.
The tips of the pipes were shiny and clean,
The windows were smoked, the glass such a sheen.
With features and options and power galore,
And zero-to-sixty in just one-point-four!
And then from the drive, the sound of a cough,
like that from a blower when the ignition's turned off.
He then set the brake and twice flashed the lights,
Just as he does all Christmas nights.
He was dressed in red leather, with fur up above,
A new Shelby printed on his right driving glove.
Parts and accessories slung on his back,
A multitude more in the Coupe in a sack.
He looked like Old Carol, a jolly old man;
with hair white as snow, a Miami tan.
Such a gleam in his eye, such a spring in his walk,
As quick as a cheetah, with eyes like a hawk.
He spoke not a word but went straight to work,
Opened the garage, with one quick easy jerk.
He left us new wheels, the ones that won't hinder,
And a new supercharger to sped up Ol' Fatfender.
He sprang to his Coupe, threw his sack in the rear,
Brought up the rev's and dropped it in gear.
And I heard him call out as he peeled out of sight,
To all you Fordbarners, "Drive Safely!!" and "Good Night!!"
T'was the night before Christmas, and out in the shed,
The '47 Flatfender was covered, from its wide whites to its head.
And I had just sampled hot chocolate, you know why,
Hoping that Old Santa Claus soon would come by.
Flathead owners were nestled all snug in their beds,
While Shelby race cars danced in their heads.
I and my Loved One, forever to keep,
Had both cuddled up for a long winter's sleep.
When out on the street there came such a roar,
I sprang from my bed to see what was in store!
I flew to the window and opened the blind,
Not knowing at all, what I would find.
The moon on the pavement shown like daylight below,
As wonder and amazement made my eyes grow.
For down on the street approaching the stoop,
Came a jolly Old Man in a '32 three-window coupe.
This little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
Faster than lightening, with engines he came,
And he honked and he flashed and he called them by name:
Come small blocks, come big blocks, come flatheads, come fuelies;
With Holleys, with Carters, both singles and duellies;
To the top of the tach, redline one and all,
Now rev'm up, rev'm up, we gotta haul!!
Like a tank full of nitro will make a car fly,
When the blower is set with the boost up too high.
So up the driveway that smokin' '32 flew,
Loaded with parts and accessories, too.
Red paint on the tin, such sparkle, such shine,
The lines smooth as silk, the leather so fine.
The wheels so wide, the tires so fat,
And "run flat" design with no chance of a flat.
The tips of the pipes were shiny and clean,
The windows were smoked, the glass such a sheen.
With features and options and power galore,
And zero-to-sixty in just one-point-four!
And then from the drive, the sound of a cough,
like that from a blower when the ignition's turned off.
He then set the brake and twice flashed the lights,
Just as he does all Christmas nights.
He was dressed in red leather, with fur up above,
A new Shelby printed on his right driving glove.
Parts and accessories slung on his back,
A multitude more in the Coupe in a sack.
He looked like Old Carol, a jolly old man;
with hair white as snow, a Miami tan.
Such a gleam in his eye, such a spring in his walk,
As quick as a cheetah, with eyes like a hawk.
He spoke not a word but went straight to work,
Opened the garage, with one quick easy jerk.
He left us new wheels, the ones that won't hinder,
And a new supercharger to sped up Ol' Fatfender.
He sprang to his Coupe, threw his sack in the rear,
Brought up the rev's and dropped it in gear.
And I heard him call out as he peeled out of sight,
To all you Fordbarners, "Drive Safely!!" and "Good Night!!"
