My tribute to a classic piece of Machinery. The 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.