The Camaro Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the garages, not a Camaro was stirring, you would think they were Dodges.
Empty tool boxes were open under every Christmas tree, each person saying “I Hope the F-Bodfather remembers me”.
The Camaro buffs were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of car parts danced in their heads.
Mama was in her T-shirt and I in my cap, we just settled in for a long winters nap.
When out on the street there arose such a clatter, I sprung from my sheets to see what’s the matter.
Away to the window I flew with a bound, and tore open the curtains to see who’s around.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a Hugger Orange ZL-1 downshifting gears.
With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Scott.
More rapid than race cars his Camaro it came, with more Camaros following, he called them by name.
Now Z28, now SS, now Pace Car and Yenko, on Berger, on RS, on IROC and COPO!
From the end of the road the tires he peeled, right down the chimney he went with a squeal.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his trunk, and filled all the stocking with lots of good junk.
He brought goodies to most homes but some he ignored, we found out the next morning that those folks drove Fords!
And giving a jingle of his set of keys, he gave a quick nod and left in a breeze.
He fired up his big block with it’s Houndstooth seats, with the others behind him he roared down the street.
But I heard him say as he drove out of sight, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!