My tribute to a classic piece of Machinery. The 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air.
The
Big Red and White.
There is
my baby, shiny red and white,
Parked
in the driveway
Waiting
for the moment,
When we
head out on the highway,
And
valiantly skite,
V8
roaring, benzene smells great,
See the
world shine in her chromium plate.
She’s
lacquered all over from bonnet to boot,
And
gleaming in splendour,
Front
and rear fender,
The
object of my life long lust and love,
My Chevy
Bel Air,
Stick
shift with four on the floor,
Me and
my darling take off in a roar.
Cruising
down backstreets and the main road,
Arm out
the window,
Wind in
my hair,
Just
cruising and moving without a care,
And
chicks they see her,
And
wonder in awe,
If they
can get in her and feel that roar.
Luxury
leather so red and replete,
White
rolled piping,
Adorning
the seat,
Smells
of the old days so great and so straight,
AM radio
playing rock and roll,
Etching
that sound
Deep
into my soul and driving the pedal on down.
I wonder
why we call our cars she,
When
this one I feel
Is an
extension of me.
Its
power and its might totally mine,
So why
is the stigma,
Of a she
car so strong,
When I
am a boy car that has lasted so long.
Heads
turn in wonder at the blast from the past,
Their
eyes hotly blinded,
By the
chrome plated babe,
And
their memories reminded of simpler times too,
When the
crime rate was low,
And cars
went so slow,
And
everyone smiled because times were so good.
Songs
oft written then that feature few words,
Penned
for dancing,
And late
night romancing,
And a
snuggle in a Bel Air overlooking the beach,
But
those days have passed,
And the
innocent be blasted,
By the
advent of communications and the populist way.
The
sixties saw my Bel Air become a junk heap,
All
painted in slogans
About
love, hate, and peace,
And the
dope that was smoked in her ruined seats,
She was
built strong and tough,
And
could handle the rough,
And rode
out the storm of uncertainty then.
Some kid
in the seventies found her broken and beat,
And
moved to his backyard,
The Bel
Air off the street,
And
restoration started that would take ages to end,
Money so
tight
Cause
the disco was so right,
And the
car become a love shack at the end of the night.
Decay
was so eminent when it moved to the beat,
Of
rappers and scrappers,
Vying to
compete,
A Rapper
called Bel Air MC was on the prowl,
For a
prop for a video,
To rap
with his crew, y'all know
And the
car was repainted and dented beyond hope.
In a
junk yard a dog pissed against a white wall,
Of a
Chevy Bel Air
Left in
disrepair,
But the
smell of the leather and a gleam of some red,
Forced a
middle aged man,
To
resurrect a dream,
And for
ten long years laboured to restore the gleam.
So when
you see my baby driving down the street,
Don’t
look at the car man,
Don’t
look at me,
But look
at the past glory of another bygone time,
Imagine
the lives
And the
struggles survived,
And look
at the Bel Air as a window to your past.
And on a
final note, one not to be repeated,
I
joyfully confess, mate,
On the
sounds she makes,
I have
placed a CD audio rack beneath the seat,
And I
cruise the streets,
Tapping
fingers and feet,
Blissfully
happy to my favourite Roger Waters tracks.
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