Rat Rod Poetry - Yes, Really!!!
- Thread starter Thunder1
- Start date
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bob w
Still crazy after all these years!
Here's one I wrote in my "dark' period:
BIG BLOCK
The kids called me "motorhead". When I was real little I used to take everything apart. In high school I worked at Stan's 66. Pumping gas. Then later, doing oil changes, and fixing flats. After a while Stan let me help with replacing clutches and other stuff.
When I was a Junior, I bought my first car. A 1951 Chevy Hardtop. With the chrome bows on the headliner. Within a few months the car was rad. With skirts, lowering blocks, two 1 barrel carbs and a split exhaust manifold.
With dual Hollywood glasspacks, Man, that baby would rap down a hill.
I was saving for my dream car, a new Chevelle SS396. Three hundred seventy five ponies. Under the hood. Waiting to eat up all the Roadrunners and Torinos in town. Four on the floor. Rubber in every gear.
I had $800 saved. When Uncle Sam called. Said Ho Chi Minh was tresspassing. Said a few thousand of us young bucks, full of pi$$ and vinegar. Should go over there for a few months, To discourage the Cong from hiking through Laos, And sneaking into South Viet Nam. And picking on the farmers and other nice folks.
In boot camp I told the Sarge that I was good with engines. That maybe I could work on trucks or jeeps and stuff. He said, because I was small, I was valuable in the field. Something about tunnels.
For months I crawled around under the jungle, leading my squad. Shooting anything that moved. Thinking about my black SS396 I'd buy with my combat pay. It was the only thing that kept me sane.
Then one day I crawled across Mr. Claymore. In the tunnel. It got really bright. Then black, quiet. I got to leave 'Nam early.
After they patched my up, I took my money and bought my first and only love. She was perfect. The guy I got her from loved that car and I promised I would too.
Sometimes, my friends will
Set me in that beautiful black bucket seat.
And start the car.
And I push the gas pedal down.
With a stick.
That I hold in my teeth.
The sound that big block makes,
Brings tears to my eyes.
BIG BLOCK
The kids called me "motorhead". When I was real little I used to take everything apart. In high school I worked at Stan's 66. Pumping gas. Then later, doing oil changes, and fixing flats. After a while Stan let me help with replacing clutches and other stuff.
When I was a Junior, I bought my first car. A 1951 Chevy Hardtop. With the chrome bows on the headliner. Within a few months the car was rad. With skirts, lowering blocks, two 1 barrel carbs and a split exhaust manifold.
With dual Hollywood glasspacks, Man, that baby would rap down a hill.
I was saving for my dream car, a new Chevelle SS396. Three hundred seventy five ponies. Under the hood. Waiting to eat up all the Roadrunners and Torinos in town. Four on the floor. Rubber in every gear.
I had $800 saved. When Uncle Sam called. Said Ho Chi Minh was tresspassing. Said a few thousand of us young bucks, full of pi$$ and vinegar. Should go over there for a few months, To discourage the Cong from hiking through Laos, And sneaking into South Viet Nam. And picking on the farmers and other nice folks.
In boot camp I told the Sarge that I was good with engines. That maybe I could work on trucks or jeeps and stuff. He said, because I was small, I was valuable in the field. Something about tunnels.
For months I crawled around under the jungle, leading my squad. Shooting anything that moved. Thinking about my black SS396 I'd buy with my combat pay. It was the only thing that kept me sane.
Then one day I crawled across Mr. Claymore. In the tunnel. It got really bright. Then black, quiet. I got to leave 'Nam early.
After they patched my up, I took my money and bought my first and only love. She was perfect. The guy I got her from loved that car and I promised I would too.
Sometimes, my friends will
Set me in that beautiful black bucket seat.
And start the car.
And I push the gas pedal down.
With a stick.
That I hold in my teeth.
The sound that big block makes,
Brings tears to my eyes.
moparcowboy
Well-known member
Very Good enjoyed your poem! Thanks[cl
bob w
Still crazy after all these years!
Ok, let's try a rhyming couplet poem. Let me tell you, it isn't easy making poetry about Rat Rods.
Untitled
I hopped out of bed.
Off to the show I did head.
In my Rat Rod truck.
I'd get there with some luck.
Bonehead skull on the shifter.
The clatter of one lifter.
The smell of hot oil.
Water starting to boil.
A Chevelle wanting to race.
Just want to drive my own pace.
Thumbs up from young boys.
Exhaust making noise.
Down a steep hill.
Really quite a thrill.
Right, left, right I am steering.
Drum brakes hot and squeeling.
At the bottom a red light.
The brake pedal I fight.
A bus in the way.
This could be a bad day.
I feel the wheels hop.
It shudders to a stop.
Turn in to the show.
Shiny cars row upon row.
Next to a beauty I park.
Just for a lark.
I shut the Rat off.
With a sputter and cough.
It kicks up some dust.
And off falls some rust.
My truck draws a crowd.
I'm humble but proud.
Guy in the next spot.
Is getting quite hot.
His car with the shine.
Isn't popular like mine.
I reach in the chest.
Where I have Budweiser's best.
I hand him a beer.
And wish him good cheer.
He can't help but smile.
So we talk for a while.
He's 80 years old.
And the truth be told.
When he was young and tough.
His hot rods were rough.
Being old and wise.
The visit opened his eyes.
And my respect grew.
For the old fellow too.
As the show reached its end.
We found we both did bend.
As we packed up and parted.
He scratched and farted.
Wished me good luck.
With my rusty old truck.
He said, "See ya next show.
And I want you to know".
I'll save you a spot next to me.
Untitled
I hopped out of bed.
Off to the show I did head.
In my Rat Rod truck.
I'd get there with some luck.
Bonehead skull on the shifter.
The clatter of one lifter.
The smell of hot oil.
Water starting to boil.
A Chevelle wanting to race.
Just want to drive my own pace.
Thumbs up from young boys.
Exhaust making noise.
Down a steep hill.
Really quite a thrill.
Right, left, right I am steering.
Drum brakes hot and squeeling.
At the bottom a red light.
The brake pedal I fight.
A bus in the way.
This could be a bad day.
I feel the wheels hop.
It shudders to a stop.
Turn in to the show.
Shiny cars row upon row.
Next to a beauty I park.
Just for a lark.
I shut the Rat off.
With a sputter and cough.
It kicks up some dust.
And off falls some rust.
My truck draws a crowd.
I'm humble but proud.
Guy in the next spot.
Is getting quite hot.
His car with the shine.
Isn't popular like mine.
I reach in the chest.
Where I have Budweiser's best.
I hand him a beer.
And wish him good cheer.
He can't help but smile.
So we talk for a while.
He's 80 years old.
And the truth be told.
When he was young and tough.
His hot rods were rough.
Being old and wise.
The visit opened his eyes.
And my respect grew.
For the old fellow too.
As the show reached its end.
We found we both did bend.
As we packed up and parted.
He scratched and farted.
Wished me good luck.
With my rusty old truck.
He said, "See ya next show.
And I want you to know".
I'll save you a spot next to me.
Charley Davidson
Well-known member
I want a rat rod! Not a shiny new street rod but a rusty ole rat! Not a sparkly coupe with fenders all fat, just a rusty ole banger that runs like a scared cat! I want nothing perfect and all polished with care, but just a simple old rod that'll frighten a few blue hairs!
Chopped and Channeled and ready for fun and when I 'm asked if it's finished, -I'll say, "It's done when it runs!!!" No billet or chrome or another trailer queen, just something that looks wicked old and really mean! Something to make purist street rodders give a dirty glare,
Open pipes and Coker Whitewalls should make it stand out. About that I'm certain and have little doubt. A cool skull shifter knob and bomber seats will add that special touch, If I get em from from Speedway they won't cost that much. A 350 small block or a Buick 409, no matter what kind, as long as it runs good it'll be fine. Yes I want a rat rod and with any luck, the guys from Rat Rods Rule...will guide me through building my truck.
Bonehead, DMW56, Tripper and Don, their always there when the build is on! There's no time to shine because it ain't about paint, build it or bust, you gotta stay focused, and remember to just trust in your rust!
Thunder1
Paw, that one always makes me cry
Charley Davidson
Well-known member
Damn, I'm gonna have to go get a sugar free french vanilla/sugar free brown sugar & cinnamon frappe with 2 extra shots of espresso & whip cream on top then pull up a char and read this whole thread[P
Torch
Extremely dangerous with a torch!!!
- Joined
- Jul 18, 2008
- Messages
- 1,627
here's a song I wrote
I was born down in Louisiana
Just a little bit back from the bayou
When I could I left town
Cuz there were no jobs around
For a man to do if he wanted to
better than his daddy did before
So I packed my bags and hit the high road
Got a few hard knocks back from the highway
When I could I learned to drive
Shifting gears to stay alive
Keep your rubber on the asphalt
and your pedal to the floor
Sometimes the road it goes on forever
And I'll be getting home I think never
There's always another load that has to go
And as I head on down that old highway
I used to think that it all went my way
But now I know
I'm just following and doing what I'm told
Someday I'm going back down to Louisiana
Gonna het me a shack a little bit back from the bayou
Have a wife and a name in town
Cats and dogs and kids around
And a chance to do if I wanted to
Better than my daddy did before
I was born down in Louisiana
Just a little bit back from the bayou
When I could I left town
Cuz there were no jobs around
For a man to do if he wanted to
better than his daddy did before
So I packed my bags and hit the high road
Got a few hard knocks back from the highway
When I could I learned to drive
Shifting gears to stay alive
Keep your rubber on the asphalt
and your pedal to the floor
Sometimes the road it goes on forever
And I'll be getting home I think never
There's always another load that has to go
And as I head on down that old highway
I used to think that it all went my way
But now I know
I'm just following and doing what I'm told
Someday I'm going back down to Louisiana
Gonna het me a shack a little bit back from the bayou
Have a wife and a name in town
Cats and dogs and kids around
And a chance to do if I wanted to
Better than my daddy did before
