about their 78

I think its called my 78 and a line from it is

"I have a four on the floor,
when I step on the gas you can hear it roar"

 

not sure...but i do remember this one......
my pappy said son your gonna drive me to drinken
if you dont stop drivin that hot rod lincoln... :thumbs:

 

ya i need a poem with 3 poetic devices for a project at skool and I was hoping to do it on a vette.

 

heres one...
My Dream Car


It is red and it is great, my seventy-eight.
The anniversary addition, still in good condition.
Got it for a great price; the timing was just right.
The owner had to move you see;
He just about gave it to me.
Exhaust pipes along the side,
Feel them rumble as I ride.
It is an automatic, no four on the floor,
Just step on the gas and feel it roar.
There is no convertible top, just two removable Tee's.
When the sun comes out and it gets hot,
Take them off and feel the breeze.
No cassette deck or CD stereo sound.
I blast the radio when cruising around.
It has a chevy 350 V8,
That is what powers my seventy-eight.
When I stop to fill up the tank,
I just about want to faint.
The price of premium goes up and up,
But that is what it takes to fill this pup.
Leather seats that fit like gloves,
A car my girl really loves.
My dream sports car;
She is my baby, my pet.
Oh, how I love
My 78 Corvette.
©
June 6, 2001 HJ

Corvette Heaven

Turn the key; open up the door;
Exactly what living is for.

Take one moment; breathe in deep;
The smell of leather is so sweet.

Settle in; buckle up; get ready;
Fire her up; hold her steady.

Excitement builds backing down the drive-
A perfect day for fun has finally arrived.

Escaping from the world we live in,
Entering the realm of Corvette heaven.

All troubles vanish as we drive away;
Nothing can spoil this Corvette day.

Hardtops, convertibles, or ones with tee's,
No finer machine that one can see.

Come join me in heaven, get ready, get set,
We will fly along in my ' 78 Corvette.
©
December 12, 2001 HJS

Cruising in our Corvette


Just cruising around town in our old Corvette
With my baby at my side;
We have everything we need-we are all set-
T-Tops off, let's take a ride.

Tune the radio dial to the country music station;
Turn up the volume to the max.
Singing along to every song without reservation;
No worries, sit back and relax.

At the stoplight up ahead, I will steal a kiss or two,
Making out until the light turns green.
Cruising around in our Corvette and being with you-
It is the answer to all my dreams.

When it is time to put her away tonight,
We will cover her to keep off the dust and dew.
Once she is secure, and I know she is all right,
We will race to our bed, because I lust for you
©
August 3, 2001 HJS





[Modified by 1bad69, 7:01 PM 4/30/2003]

 

How about... There was a young man from Boston
He bought a little car called An Austin.
With only enough room for his a**
when he put in a gallon of gas,
His ba**s hung out and he lost'em :lolg: :lolg:

 

How about this one:


Rice Boy at the Track

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the ricers all that day;
The score stood four to two with few more runs to lay.
And when that Supra broke at the line, and the NSX couldn’t set the pace,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the race.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the ricers chest;
They thought if only Rice Boy could but get a run at that –
We’d put up even money now with Rice Boy at the track.

But a Sentra preceded Rice Boy, as did also a 350Z,
There was no competition here as everyone could see;
So upon that stickered multitude grim melancholy see,
For there seemed but little chance of Rice Boy getting to the tree.

But the Sentra won by a break-out, to the wonderment of all,
And that 350Z, though much despised, tore the guard rail off the wall;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Rice Boy in the bleach, looking just like a turd.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty roar;
It rumbled down through pit lane, it rattled all the doors;
It knocked upon the staging line the echo’s of their glee,
For Rice Boy, Mighty Rice Boy, was staging to the tree.

There was ease in Rice Boy’s manner as he rolled into his place;
There was pride in Rice Boy’s bearing and a smile on Rice Boy’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he revved up his type R,
No ricer in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Rice Boy in that car.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he took in all the hype;
Five thousand tongues applauded when flame shot from his fart pipe.
Then while the ZL-1 staged, the one he would soon whip
Defiance gleamed in Rice Boy’s eye, a sneer curled Rice Boy’s lip.

And from that tree green light came hurtling through the air,
And Rice Boy sat a-watching with his wing shaking in the air,
The V-tech launched with all it’s might, the pedal through the floor,
“This ain’t way it’s suppose to be, the wind pulling off his door.

From the benches filled with ricers, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
“Kill him! Kill that ZL-1!” shouted someone with a twitch;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Rice Boy hit the switch.

With a smile of Christian charity great Rice Boy’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the run go on;
The turbo was a screaming, and the NOS made it seem alive;
But Rice Boy still ignored it, he pulled the shifter in gear five.”

“Fast!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered, “Fast!”
But the scornful look on Rice Boy face, and the ricers were agas;
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Rice Boy wouldn’t let that ZL-1 go by again.

The sneer is gone from Rice Boy’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence the shifter in its gate.
And now the NOS is all burn up, he knows it just ain’t right,
And now the dream is shattered by that ZL-1’s tail light.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
A Vette is cruising somewhere, it’s chrome sparkling in the light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children clown;
But there is no joy in Riceville – Mighty Rice Boy’s been shut down. :lolg:


[Modified by Pete79L82, 7:06 PM 4/30/2003]

 

Going with more poems about Corvettes, my roommate, who is an English major, wrote this poem after riding in my Vette. I Hope you guys enjoy.

As the Foot Hits the Floor

fast?
f%ck fast.
it’s like I’ve got my very own
Einstein riding shotgun,
explaining relativity
as we rocket into
time dilation,
tach winding clockwise
into ocher yellows
and cadmium reds.
the car speaks to the pavement
through contact patches
the size of a fat woman’s butt,
tires that bark when
I kick the transmission
into fourth.
my conscience tells me to stop
but I can’t hear it because
I left the sound barrier
four miles ago.

Michael Gould
College of Wooster, Class of 2005

 

I dont want a pet....
Just wanna drive my corvette
And I don't want a jet
Just wanna drive my corvette.
And I dont wanna be poor....
Just wanna drive my little red Cor.......
vette! :) (Apologies to Arlo Guthrie)

MJ

 

Here's one for you....It's not Corvette related.

Please use caution before you decide to give it to you significant other, I did, and got slapped really hard.... :boxing

Collards are green,
my dog's name is Blue
and I'm so lucky
to have a sweet thang like you.

Yore hair is like cornsilk
a-flappin in the breeze.
softer than Blue's
and without all them fleas.

You move like the bass,
which excite me in May.
you ain't got no scales
but I luv you anyway.

Yore as satisfy'n as okry
jist a-fry'n in the pan.
yore as fragrant as "snuff"
right out of the can.

You have some'a yore teeth
for which I am proud.
I hold my head high
when we're in a crowd.

On special occasions,
when you shave under yore arms,
well, I'm in hawg heaven
and awed by yore charms.

Still them fellers at work,
they all want to know,
what I did to deserve
such a purdy, young doe.

Like a good roll of duct tape
yo're there fer yore man,
to patch up life's troubles
and fix what you can.

Yo're as cute as a junebug
a-buzzin' overhead.
You ain't mean like those fare ants
I found in my bed.

Cut from the best cloth
like a plaid flannel shirt,
you spark up my life
more than a fresh load of dirt.

When you hold me real tight
like a padded gunrack,
my life is complete.
ain't nuttin' I lack.

Yore complexion, it's perfection,
like the best vinyl sidin'
despite all the years,
yore age, it keeps hidin'.

Me "n" you's like a moon pie
with a RC cold drank,
we go together
like a skunk goes with stank.

Some men, they buy chocolate
for a Valentine's Day,
they git it at Wal-Mart,
it's romantic that way.

Some men git roses
on that special day
form the cooler at Piggly Wiggly,
that's impressive, I say.

Some men buy fine diamonds
from a flea market booth.
"Diamonds are forever",
they explain, suave and couth.

But for this man, honey,
these won't do.
Cause yore too special,
you sweet thang you.

I got you a gift,
without taste nor odor,
more useful than diamonds...
IT'S A NEW TROLL'N MOTOR!!

 

OK, You win!
:crazy:

 

Thanks.. too bad my wife didn't see it that way... :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:

 

Dawg that was too funny. :lol: