Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the garage
Not an engine was whirring, not even the dodge.
The cars we’re parked, cleaned up with care.
In hopes that the drift season soon would be here..
The #Falkens were mounted all snug on their rims,
The offset was perfect, no spacers no shims.
And gas in the tank, and oil under the cap,
Had just stabilized the fuel for the long winter’s nap.
When out on the street there arose such a squeal,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the deal.
Away to the window I ran like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But some slammed 240s, chirping 3rd gear.
With a old school drivers, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be clique.
We got in the cars, as soon as they came,
And they whistled, and shouted, and called out my name!
“Now Nissans! now, Toyotas! now, Mazdas and Lexus!
On, Subbies! On, Mitsus! on, Hondas and Genesis!
To the top of the canyon! to the top of the mountain!
Now drift away! Drift away! Drift away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane glide,
When they meet with a corner, the rip the ebrake and begin to slide.
So up to the mountain-top the drifters they flew,
With a full can of NOS, and some hot bitches too.
And then, in an instant, I heard on the walkie
That the police we’re away getting some coffee.
As I thought in my head, and was turning around,
I told all the homies we were drifting bound.
The cars blowing smoke, from the street to the tire,
and the bumpers discolored, from a little backfire.
A few spare tires we threw in the trunk,
We looked like a junkyard, driving piles of junk.
The road how it sparkled! open turns how merry!
HIDs gleaming like stars, enough light we need not tarry!
The turbos spooled up, the gears we would throw ,
And all we saw behind us was a cloud made of snow.
The gears were moving, catching all of the teeth,
The mountain was winding like a holiday wreath.
It had many turns, yes the hairpins were many
If you weren’t on this run, man you’d be jelly!
The gas tanks ran low, and the tires grew bald
We laughed when we saw a few tow trucks were called!
A gleam in our eyes and a twist of the wheel,
Soon let us know we too had no tread.
We spoke not a word, but went straight down the pass,
And still pushed the cars, and slammed on the gas.
Nearing the bottom of our cold night run,
We knew we’d accomplished a night full of fun!
We all headed home, to the garages we fled,
And with this fun night, a good year was ahead.
I yelled to them all as the door hid the sight,
“Happy Drifttmas to all, and to all a good-night!”