I wrote this during Christmas season '87 and obtained the copywrite in 1988. Any unauthorized use or reproduction of the included material without my express permission is subject to penalty under law. (Sorry, but by law we have to guard our copywrites to keep them valid.)

Corvette Christmas© Todd Brody

T’was the night before Christmas, and in the garage,
The Corvette was covered, as was the Dodge;
And I had just drank and few beers to get high,
And hoped that Old Santa Claus soon would come by.

Vette owners were nestled all snug in their beds,
While fuelies and big blocks danced in their heads;
And 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 the bed to see what’s 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 split window coupe.

This little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
Faster than lightning, with engines he came,
And he honked and he flashed and called them byname:

Come small blocks, come big blocks, come Blue Flames, come fuelies;
With Hollys, with Carters, both singles and duelies;
To the tope of the tach, redline one and all,
Now rev’em up, rev’em up, we gotta haul!

Like a tank full of nitro will make a car fly,
When the blower is set with the boost up to high;
So up the driveway the split window flew,
Loaded with parts and accessories too.

The paint on the glass, such sparkle, such shine,
The chrome, smooth as silk, the leather so fine.
The wheels so wide, the tires so fat,
A space-saver spare, in case 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 two-point-four.

And them from the drive, the sound of a cough,
Like that from a fuelie when the ignition’s turned off.
He then set the brake and flipped in the lights,
Just as he does all Christmas Eve nights.

He was dressed in red leather, with fur up above,
A ’63 Vette 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 Duntov, a jolly old man,
With hair white as snow, a Miami tan;
Such gleam in his eye, such 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.
New pistons and rings, two overbores larger,
And even a hemi to speed up the Charger.

He sprang to his coupe, threw his sack in the rear,
Brought up the revs, and dropped it in gear;
And I heard him call out as he peeled out of sight,
Happy Vetting to all, and to all a good night.