Club Cobra - I wrote a poem for my new book

Back in the day before the EPA when the streets were ripe for plunder,
there were drivers bold who ruled the road in their Chariots of Thunder.

For me and the gang it was a souped up ‘stang that looked a little bit rough,
but looks - no need, she was built for speed, she was more than fast enough.

With a faded crown of chalky brown, she was easy to ignore,
bald tires beneath, but the heart of a beast and a four-speed on the floor.

Cruising along a country road one humid summer night,
the full moon’s glow was enough to show a fast approaching sight.

An old Torino without a hood was coming up from the rear,
she carried a crew, a clueless few with faces that showed no fear.

They couldn’t see what would never be, to beat us in a race,
with a gambler’s pride they pulled alongside and tried to up the pace.

I warned aloud that they had no chance, that they’d best be on their way,
or choose defeat ‘cause you will be beat, no mercy for you today.”

Driving a steed of a similar breed their gestures were nothing but rude.
I said “here’s the deal, now you’ll see how it feels to be turned into Mustang food”.

She’ll chew you up, spit you out and leave you in our dust,
so bring it on if you’re feeling strong, we’ll spank you if we must.

Like desperadoes face to face and both prepared to draw,
he hit the gas and tried to pass - for me it was the final straw.

As I yanked her back into second gear I could hear the bald tires screech,
a real hard lesson you’re about to learn and one I’m prepared to teach.

I could feel their dread as we pulled ahead and shot into the night,
Now they knew nothing they’d do could keep them in the fight.

For the knockout blow I poured it on just to show them who was boss,
to end the duel and hand the fools a humiliating loss.

Again the ‘stang had done us right, the race was clearly won.
What a ride! We were high on pride for the damage we had done.

They caught up at last and drove on past while acknowledging defeat,
I did feel bad since they looked so sad to be so badly beat.

I flashed my brights as they pulled away, just a gesture of good luck.
If you want a rematch let me know, I’ll bring my pickup truck.

Those days of old with drivers bold and laws much less severe,
when to be outpaced and lose a race was the greatest thing to fear.

Like great white sharks that swim the sea bringing death from deep down under,
best move aside and let em pass on by, those Chariots of Thunder.