Gotta thank Mark for this one, but I think it's a classic and had to save it the first time I saw it....
The Night Before Christmas
(For a Mustang II Owner)
By Mark Ward
'Twas the night before Christmas when all round the garage,
Not an engine was running, especially that Dodge.
The wrenches were set in the toolbox with care,
Expecting the Snap-On guy soon to be there.
The children were sleeping, tucked up in their room,
With visions of big blocks on nitrous going zoom.
My wife in her nightgown, and me in my 'jamas,
Were searching for Mustang II parts, and going bananas.
When out in my yard I heard a low rumble,
I ran toward the window, but thought I would stumble.
Leaping over the parts catalogs... at the window at last,
I opened up the blinds, and the curtains real fast.
With the full moon reflecting on the new winters snow,
One could see clearly what was sitting below.
What would appear to my eyes filled with splendor,
A white/red Cobra II... V8 badge on its fender.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew for a Ford guy, this must be St. Nick.
He looked at my drag car, its parts stickers in acclaim,
Starting to get excited, He called them by name,
"Now Edelbrock! Now Hurst! Now Tremec and Paxton!
And FMS! and NOS! and Borla and Headman!"
He cruised by my porch, and toward the garage wall
Whoa baby! Whoa baby! Whoa baby, stall.
He then yanked on the E-brake, and started a tailspin,
Stopped by the garage door, and shut off the engine,
He opened the hatchback and what did I see,
A carload of parts, for you and for me.
Think as I might, nothing seems any more masculine,
Than the sweet exhaust note of that 302 engine.
I ran to the garage, and through the door I explode,
Already inside was St. Nick, carrying his first load.
He was dressed in a red jumpsuit, from his head to his foot
And his clothes were tarnished with grease, oil, and schmut.
Boxes of parts he had flung in a sack,
And he looked like he might have thrown out his back.
His eyes - how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
That Cobra sitting outside, boy it was cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smile,
The normal state for a Mustang II driver who has gone over a mile.
He held a part tight in his small little hand,
That would make my car run anything but bland.
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook as he laughed like a typical Chevy.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
"This guy knows his parts," I said to myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Was the answer to my request for a ride in his thoroughbred.
He spoke not a word, but went right to work,
And filled up my workbench, then turned with a jerk.
He started out the door, then spoke up at last,
Stick with the Ford’s if you want to go fast.
He sat down in his car, and started his rod,
Took off down the road, and gave me a nod.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
The Night Before Christmas
(For a Mustang II Owner)
By Mark Ward
'Twas the night before Christmas when all round the garage,
Not an engine was running, especially that Dodge.
The wrenches were set in the toolbox with care,
Expecting the Snap-On guy soon to be there.
The children were sleeping, tucked up in their room,
With visions of big blocks on nitrous going zoom.
My wife in her nightgown, and me in my 'jamas,
Were searching for Mustang II parts, and going bananas.
When out in my yard I heard a low rumble,
I ran toward the window, but thought I would stumble.
Leaping over the parts catalogs... at the window at last,
I opened up the blinds, and the curtains real fast.
With the full moon reflecting on the new winters snow,
One could see clearly what was sitting below.
What would appear to my eyes filled with splendor,
A white/red Cobra II... V8 badge on its fender.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew for a Ford guy, this must be St. Nick.
He looked at my drag car, its parts stickers in acclaim,
Starting to get excited, He called them by name,
"Now Edelbrock! Now Hurst! Now Tremec and Paxton!
And FMS! and NOS! and Borla and Headman!"
He cruised by my porch, and toward the garage wall
Whoa baby! Whoa baby! Whoa baby, stall.
He then yanked on the E-brake, and started a tailspin,
Stopped by the garage door, and shut off the engine,
He opened the hatchback and what did I see,
A carload of parts, for you and for me.
Think as I might, nothing seems any more masculine,
Than the sweet exhaust note of that 302 engine.
I ran to the garage, and through the door I explode,
Already inside was St. Nick, carrying his first load.
He was dressed in a red jumpsuit, from his head to his foot
And his clothes were tarnished with grease, oil, and schmut.
Boxes of parts he had flung in a sack,
And he looked like he might have thrown out his back.
His eyes - how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
That Cobra sitting outside, boy it was cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smile,
The normal state for a Mustang II driver who has gone over a mile.
He held a part tight in his small little hand,
That would make my car run anything but bland.
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook as he laughed like a typical Chevy.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
"This guy knows his parts," I said to myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Was the answer to my request for a ride in his thoroughbred.
He spoke not a word, but went right to work,
And filled up my workbench, then turned with a jerk.
He started out the door, then spoke up at last,
Stick with the Ford’s if you want to go fast.
He sat down in his car, and started his rod,
Took off down the road, and gave me a nod.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"