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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Early 60’s feeling my oats, slow moving wasn’t my bag 56 Chevy, foot to the floor, looking for someone to drag He’s a Rebel on the radio, smell of gasoline was strong Marked off a stretch of highway, exactly one mile long I made my way to the starting line, foot getting heavy Ford was revving up hot, but nothing beats my Chevy There’s no feeling on earth like starting to drag Her sweater on a stick was our checkered flag I said I’d like to hang around but I’ve got a hot date So while you’re driving that Ford, read my license plate I slammed my foot to the floor and could feel the thrust When I looked in the mirror, the Ford was eating my dust Next Sunday morning, I was on the way to see my girl I saw a Nash Rambler and thought I’d give him a whirl I pulled along side him as we approached a mile long hill Thinking that beating his butt would give me a thrill Now I looked over at him, smiled and waved good bye Then he waved back and I thought I would cry There was no way it should happen the Rambler went pop I was half way up the hill, he was over the top. Instead of seeing my girl, I drove all around town Trying to find the car that put my Chevy down The fastest thing I had ever seen moving on dry land I just wanted to find the driver for a chance to shake his hand Sometimes I think of times we had, drag racing way back then Though I searched for years I never saw that Nash Rambler again
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