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Every Racer, down in Raceville, liked Earnhardt a lot.
But... the 18, who lived just north of Raceville, did not.
The 18 hated Earnhardt, the whole Goodwrench team!
Now please don't ask why, no one quite knows his scheme.
It could be his helmet, wasn't screwed on, just right,
it could be, perhaps, that his suit was too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
may have been that his wallet, was two sizes too small.
But what ever the reason, his helmet or suit,
he stood there on Homestead eve, wanting the loot.
Staring down from the pits, with a sour 18 frown,
he looked at the cars, in the garage town.
For he knew every race fan, in the stands and pit row,
were busy wearing number 3's, that made Dale glow.
And they are hanging, Goodwrench flags, he snarled with a sneer,
tomorrow is race day, it's practically here!
And he growled, with his gloved fingers, nervously drumming,
I must find a way, to keep the 8th Cup from coming.
For tomorrow, he knew, all the race girls and boys,
would wake up, bright and early, they'd cheer on the boys.
And then! Oh the noise, noise, noise, noise,
that's one thing he hated, the NOISE, NOISE, NOISE, NOISE!
Then the drivers, young and old, would strap into their seat.
And turn up the Heat, turn up the Heat, turn up the Heat, Heat, Heat, Heat!
They would start, in turn one, drafting with Dale,
which is something, which would make the 18 fail.
And then they'd do something, he liked least of all,
every racer, down in Raceville, the tall and the small,
would race close together, with engines screaming,
then go bumper to bumper, and Dale would start dreaming.
He'd dream, he'd dream, and he'd dream, dream, dream, dream.
And the more the 18 thought, I'd better start scheming.
Why for so many years, I've put up with it now,
I must stop Earnhardt from winning, but how?
Then he got an idea, an awful idea.
The 18 got a wonderful awful idea.
I know just what to do... the 18 did laugh in his throat,
and he made a quick Teresa wig and a Goodwrench coat.
And he chuckled and clucked, this will be a cinch!
With this wig and this coat, I'll look just like the winch!
All I need is a Hamlin, the 18 looked around,
but since Hamlins are rare, there were none to be found.
Did that stop the 18? No! the 18 simply said,
if I can't find a Hamlin, I'll make one instead!
So he called his chief, Makar, then he took some gray thread,
and he tied a gray beard, to the jaw on his head.
Then he loaded some trophies, in an old empty car,
And he threw in his chief, Jimmy Makar.
Then the 18 said YEE HAAA, and the car started toward the hotels,
where the drivers, lay a snooze dreaming of wheels.
All their windows were dark, only snores filled the air.
All the drivers were dreaming, sweet dreams without care.
Then he came, to the first room, in the square.
This is stop number one, the old 18 Teresa hissed,
and he crept through the door, trophy in his fist.
Then he walked in the hall, where the helmets hung in a row,
These Helmets he grinned, are the first things to go.
Then he gently woke Dale, patted his head, like a pup,
and he said congratulations honey, on your 8th Winston cup,
then said you worked hard, sleep in, in the morning,
I am going to Macy's, victory lane, was their warning!”
He placed the trophy next to Dale's bed,
and again, he patted his head!
Then he said to his Jimmy, this is a cinch,
It feels like Christmas, and I feel like the Grinch!
His new boobs, got stuck once, for a moment or two,
but he knew it was something, he had to do.
Dale will wake up, I know just what he’ll do,
he will see his fake trophy, and he will smile too.
He will think he already won, and to sleep he will sink,
only to wake, when I take, my first pit row drink.
He drove to the starting line, next to pit row,
said these boobs, wig and coat, will have to go.
He put on his helmet, and dropped off Makar,
and he took his warm up lap, in his new car.
Pooh, Pooh, to old Dale he was Grinchly humming,
he's finding out now, the 8th cup ain't coming!”
He's just waking up, I know, just what he'll do...
His mouth, will hang open, a minute or two,
and Dale, down in Raceville, will start to cry, Boo Hoo.
That I simply must hear! So he paused, and he put his hand to his ear
and he did hear a sound, it sounded like fourth gear.
It started out low, then it started to grow,
but the sound wasn't sad! It sounded like Dale, and he sounded mad!
He stared, in his rear view mirror, and to his surprise,
he had a perfect view, of Dales twinkling eyes,
Dale shot him a look, then shot him a wink,
This made the 18, begin to think.
Earnhardt won't win the cup, at least not this year,
Dale seemed happy, yet he was in the rear.
Maybe racing wasn't about avoiding the balcony,”
maybe racing he thought, was about, passing in turn three.”
And what happened then? Well in Raceville they say,
That Bobby's wallet grew, three sizes that day,
That the minute his wallet didn't feel so tight,
He sat at the head table, on award banquet night!
With many Thanks, this version written by Tami Bennett