'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the shop
Not a tool was stirring, not even a mop;
The mufflers were hung by the bumper with care,
In hopes that
Raceaflais would not soon be there;
The pit crew were nestled all snug in their beds. (race car shaped plastic beds that is)
While visions of tire changes danced in their heads;
Hot momma in her T-Top, and I in my shorts,
Had just settled down for a few late night snorts, (Alcohol, not coke you deviants...)
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Near the old derelict car behind the broke ladder.
Away to the garage I raced like a Petty,
Rolled up the door and turned on the key.
The Hellas shown on the new-fallen snow
Gave that blue white glare to objects below,
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a miniature WRC car complete with wing in the rear,
With a little old driver, so lively and gay, (Not that way...)
I knew in a moment it must be Colin McRae.
More rabid than vultures the builders they came,
And he cursed, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Ford! now, Fiat! now, Talbot and Toyota!
On, Apline! on Audi! on, Peugeot and Skoda!
To the top of the podium! or crash in the wall!
Now drive away! drive away! drive away all!"
As dry gravel that on the ground it does lie,
When by the spinning tires, mount to the sky,
So up to the rafters the Marques they flew,
With the car full of fast bits and stickers too.
The middle part can be such a bore
And rewriting it too would be such a chore...
So forward my friend
We skip to the end...
He strapped on his harness and turned on the switch,
Stepped on the gas and took off like a... really fast thing.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drift out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-light."
Have a great day everyone....