Twas the night before Christmas, and upon my garage bench,
Not a tool was a spinning, not even a wrench.
The cars were all parked in their stalls with great care,
In hope that St Nicholas soon would be there.
This car guy was nestled all snug in my bed,
While visions of sports cars raced through my head.
And my wife in her overalls and I in my driver’s cap,
Had just parked our booties for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the driveway there arose a valve clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the garage I flew like James Hunt,
But I tripped on a floor jack and had quite a shunt.
The moon on the paint of my shiny car’s hood,
Had the luster of fresh paint on cars that are good.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a train of cool sports cars with a driver so dear.
He was a spirited old racer, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than racers his cars they all came,
And he honked, and blipped throttles, and called them by name!
"Now Porsche! Now, Ferrari! Now, Ford and Chevrolet!
On, BMW! On, Bugatti! On Aston Martin from the UK!
Drive Jaguar! Drive McLaren! Drive Lamborghini and Audi too!
Shift Tesla! Shift Morgan! Shift Mercedes and boy how they flew!"
The smell of spent race fuel lingered thick in the air,
And the marks of burnt rubber on my driveway were there,
So on to the driveway the marques how they flew,
It was a sleigh pulled by cars, driven by St Nicholas too.
And then, all a revving, I heard in the garage
The distinct double clutch of a red Viper Dodge.
As I poked in my head, he was turning around,
And in to my garage did St Nicholas pull up with a bound.
He was dressed like a racer, from his head to his foot,
And his race suit was tarnished with oil and black diesel soot.
A bundle of car parts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a mechanic opening up his tool sack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how quaint!
His cheeks were like chrome and his nose like metallic paint!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as a headlight’s glow.
The exhaust from his tail pipes drifted through the night’s air
And he shut down the engines with a quick blip and a care.
His smiling face looked out, of his Bell helmet all round,
He shook when he laughed, like a V12 making sound!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old racer
And I laughed when I saw him, like a barn find car chaser.
A wink of his eyes were like the sparkle of chrome stars,
And I knew that this old jolly fellow really loved cars.
He spoke not a word, and delivered his treats,
He filled the glove boxes, the trunks and bucket seats.
And laying his wrench aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, in to his car he arose!
The cars they all fired up with a glorious roar,
And away they all drove right out my garage door.
How he yelled with excitement, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Thank you to Clement Clarke Moore for your Christmas inspiration.