'Twas the night before Chrismas, and all through the valley,
Not a sports cars was stirring, not even a Ferrari
The stockings were hung on the garage door w. care
In hopes that Hot Nick soon would be there.

The kiddies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While Alfas and Jaguars raced in their heads
Mom in her goggles and I in a beret
Had tucked in the Allard, and then hit the hay.

When out on the road there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter
Expecting to see a Mercedes roar by
We raced to the window, my dear wife and I.

The moon on the chrome of her baby Lago
Gave the brightness of noonday to objects below
When what should my wondering eyes betray
But eight tiny MG's, pulling a sleigh.

With a small hero driver so steady and quick
I knew in a moment it must be Hot Nick!
More rapid than Grand Prix his little fleet came,
And he poured on the coal as he called them by name.

Now KA, now PB, now Kn and TD,
On VA, on TF, on NA and TC
To the top of the turn, keep away from the wall
Now dash away, dig out, and change cogs all.

Like Ascari and Fangio fighting a duel,
They broadslid the driveway and turned on the fuel
Up to the garage where they braked to a stop,
The sleigh full of goodies w. Santa on top.

The sleigh was aluminum,--Ghia design
In British racing green, it looked really fine
The badge bar up front stood out clear and bold
The collection of badges a sight to behold.

He was dressed up all in Italian Race Red,
From the tip of his toes to top of his head.
A bundle of speed parts he had on his back,
And he chuckled with glee as he opened his pack.

His eyes how they sparkled, like a spinning Ronal wheel,
His beard was the silver of machine-tooled steel,
With a little round face and a chubby waist line,
That shook when he laughed like that Bugatti of mine.

He started his task without saying a word,
The idling exhausts were all that was heard.
Wire wheels for Junior, to fit his TD
Hood strap and windscreens for Allard and me.

Some paint for the Bug, marked "French racing Bleu
Castrol, a blower, and dual carbies, too
The last thing he left was the best that could be
A year's "Road and Track" for the family and me.

He jumped to the sleigh and gave his commands.
Then away they all flew like the start of Le Mans.
And I heard him exclaim, as he quickened the pace,
Merry Christmas to all and all a good race!