Twas the night before Christmas and caught at the light, Was a brand new Corvette and no cops in sight, I will try, I will try, I will try with this small motor, To beat this damn Covette, even with it's big blower, As the light goes green and I pull like no joke, The Corvette erupts in clouds of tire smoke, Now Smasher, now Rev-ver, now Stroker, now Blitzin, These are the names of my four VTEC pistons, Racing ahead I'm the Star of the Action, But I know I'm in trouble when that V8 gets traction, Grabbing second, I hear the RPM sing, My mirror is blocked by my Shopping Kart Wing, I now hear the roar, of that big monster gaining, All I can do is keep that four-banger straining, In a second, the shockwave hits with a blast, And my stickers go flying now, a thing of the past, Don't bother with third, cause now it's too late, Just try to act cool, like you can relate, Looking up at the taillights as they get smaller, The driver backs off just to give me a holler, "You can't win them all," he says in fling, "You may not win any, in that silly thing", I scowled and revved and let out a sigh, And did my trademark Ricer fly-by. Happy Holidays!
Because with the sound their cars make they don't realize its made for a short go-kart track. Their not made to run the streets. But the poem relates to 99% of them. I didn't write this poem. Couldn't bring myself to waste part of my life to write something like this.
