(Editor’s note: BangShift member Hamar (real name Hal) sent us this poem as told us we could use it if we wanted to. We read it and thought it would be perfect for a Christmas eve blog item. We were kind of shocked to learn that Santa rolls in a blown 1967 Camaro, but it sure beats the hell out of a Prius or some junk like that!) Hit the jump to read the poem.
Santa’s Pro Street ’67 Z Saves the Day
Twas the night before Christmas and up at the Pole
Santa was pissed, for the sled someone stole.
So he sat down and thought about his past years
and the wonderful time he had had grabbing gears.
Then in his eyes there came such a gleam
That he’d drive his old hot rod, instead of his team.
So out in the snowBig Santa stepped
and walked to the workshop where is hot rod was kept.
He flashed on the lights and what did he see
But a mint midnight blue Prostreeted Z.
With a turn of the key it rumbled to life
and the words “shut it off” that came from his wife.
With an ear to ear grin, back Santa stood
and gazed at the blower that stuck out of the hood.
So he went to the trunk of his rad ’67
and the way that he smiled, he must be in heaven
But his thoughts were then shot straight down to Hell
For there was no room next to the Harwood cell
So he threw his big sack off of his back
and tied the damn thing to the Parachute pack.
With the smell of Cam 2 he put it in gear
and the rap of the headers was all you could hear.
Then we heard him exclaim as he drove through the night
Merry Christmas to all, and this cars out of sight!!
