Hot off the press

Cobra
By Tony Radford

I never got bored with my souped up Ford and some quarter-a-gallon gas,
the things I did as a ’60s kid when I felt like going fast.

Showing our might from light to light, the sound of squealing tire,
proving who’s boss with a loud exhaust just bellowing smoke and fire.

But then, like now, most all would bow to the sign of a coiled up snake,
and the story be told of a vision bold, as history one would make.

A little car from a land afar, was about to lose its heart,
when a man in black and a cowboy hat would give it a fresh new start.

“Back in the day”, as the old guys say, “That Shelby did it right”,
and Hans and Franz from track Le Mans would finally lose the fight.

He bought just two, painted one blue and added some stripes for looks,
and Carroll’s name soon became the subject of countless books.

They both had a date with a little V-8 and would join the FIA.
Ferraris and ‘Vettes would lose all bets when Cobras came to play.

But the glory was brief, for like a thief, the big blocks stole the stage,
“Get the tools, we’ll show those fools, it’s time to turn the page”!

Like a gift from heaven, the four twenty seven became the magic word,
with a nip and tuck, and a bit of luck, Mr. Shelby produced “the Turd”.

A beauty not, she ran real hot, they’d chop, bend, twist and hack,
with a big block sound and race track bound, the Shelby team was back!

The same cute face, but a whole new race, so many trophies won,
that big V-8 would seal their fate, a legend they’d become.

There was no escape, that curvy shape, a captivating style,
like a valiant steed, she’d hit top speed in about a quarter-mile.

As they say, she’d have her day, but all good things must end,
for winning’s sake, we must innovate or the lead we’ll not defend.

She couldn’t meet the need for “sleek” and the Coupe would hit the scene,
but the Cobra’s reign had won her fame and a song from Jan and Dean.

Years would pass, but then at last, like a Phoenix from the flame,
a glass remake of a famous shape would restore the Cobra name.

Vintage bold, though not so old, a replica they say,
but oh so real - the look and feel, with parts from modern day.

An industry would come to be, as makers sold their kits,
and Snakes galore from shore to shore would give old Shelby fits.

Any show where Cobras go, they’d garner such appeal,
but such dismay when lookers say, “Is that a kit or real?”

The words “kit car” could leave a scar on some of the owners’ pride,
but truth be told, they’d trade their soul for a chance to take a ride.

A day of sun can yield more fun than a Cobra man can take,
but whatever you do, be sure that you don’t call his car a fake.

She may not be from sixty three, but to him she’s solid gold,
a vintage heart, some modern parts, and smiles a hundred fold.

Bravo - well done! [thumb]

Very Good!

But: "a song from Jan and Dean"

Hey Little Cobra was done by
The Rip Chords

They wrote it, but I think Jan and Dean's version was much better. Besides, it rhymes with "scene".

Yeah but you still have to take your "Little Cobra" to "Drag City" to run it unless you drive a Beach Boy's "Custom Machine" and "Shut Down" the competition.
Bob

Nicely done Tony. Gary

You kind of raise the question, what is a "replica" and what is a "kit"? The FF and their type are for sure kits but isn't the Unique more of a replica than a kit?

That sounds good to me!

To my way of thinking, a UNIQUE is the same as a figerglass bodied replica Shelby.....only better quality and much better customer service.

Next, you guys will be saying I'm trying to spark a BB vs SB debate. All I did was write a story in rhyme. I'm innocent!

And if you keep it up, I'll post one that's guaranteed to make you cry.

Daddy’s Girl
By Tony Radford

She felt such dread when the doctors said “A child you’ll never bear”,
your family tree, a damaged seed, an act you shouldn’t dare.

A risk denied, so hard they tried and finally got their way,
when darling little Alice came on a joyous summer day.

They’d cheated fate, an early date, so frail and premature,
though small in size, a parent’s prize, so innocent and pure.

Seven years would come and go, a beauty she would be,
a love for nature, mom and dad, a spirit young and free.

No one knew why she never grew, so delicate and small,
not like other kids her age who’d grown up strong and tall.

A tiny frame, a golden mane and eyes of liquid blue,
the angels’ choice, a whispery voice as soft as morning dew.

Alice was a daddy’s girl and always by his side.
“My daddy is an Army man”, she’d tell her friends with pride.

But drums of war on a distant shore would call her dad away,
a soldier proud, a cheering crowd, a price he had to pay.

The sky was stained with clouds and rain on the day that he’d depart,
though proud she’d be, to see him leave would only break her heart.

Looking clean in fatigues of green he hugged his little doll,
“Now you be good and mind your mom, I’ll see you in the fall”.

He breathed a sigh as he waved goodbye, his tears he couldn’t hide,
so long a stay, to be away from his baby and his bride.

She waved and squeezed her teddy bear she’d had since she was two,
a present from her favorite dad, the little bear named Boo.

Every day, the mailman came, a note she’d hope to find,
a written kiss from the dad she missed, to know she’s on his mind.

He wasn’t gone for very long when tragic news arrived,
his men he saved as battle raged, but bravery took his life.

With broken heart beyond repair, her health began to fail,
her youthful glow would shine no more, her body growing pale.

Wrapped so tight in a gown of white and little Boo close by,
for days she’d wait to learn her fate, her mom right by her side.

“We suspect a heart defect” - her mother’s greatest fear,
the news was bleak, her heart so weak, the end was growing near.

Alice was to be released, there was no need to stay,
he promised that a nurse would come to visit every day.

Her mommy asked, “What can I do to make my girl feel better”?
She thought a while and then she smiled, just read me daddy’s letter.

A Mom and daughter lay in bed all snuggled side by side,
she read the note, the words he wrote while both broke down and cried.

The sixth of May, her final day, awakened from a dream,
a wingless angel by her side all dressed in Army green.

A soothing and familiar voice said “Alice, time to go,
your daddy’s here, no need to fear, I’ve come to take you home”.