the dudes get cars

My dad let me use the 1970 gerken green Lincoln Continental, 4door,8track. And I did. Those things would comfortably lap-stack seat ten hippies. Down the roads did we groove. Down Metcalf. Down College. Down Grant and down Nieman. Down 435, 35 not Waukeegan. Down 169 to a keg in the woods. Down Switzer,Quivira,down. I'm outta rhymes.
Dad got a Cadillac, I got the '74 Lincoln. It was blue. I was a coke fiend. I had a bullet thing for snorting ones' blow. The car played cassette tapes. The hippy capacity trimmed down to eight. But , who wanted to share their coke with seven hippies?
I think I had my mom's El Torino. I took a turn on each bad Mav. Mommy had a Plymouth Fury. My sister handed off a Red '67 Catalina convertible at times. (very Hunter Thompson). I almost wrecked another sister's shit-year Mustang. A cat ran out in front of me in a snow storm.
The car that was mine was an Olds '69 442. Thanks again , Dad, that fucker was fast , and, oh my, the stereo ruled.
At the time of My car, I worked bar-b-q Zar
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My pals , they were dudes, they had cars. Whatley had a Firebird. Glickley had a Charger. Steve Gaines had one o' them fuckin' Starsky and Hutch cars. His brother had a Challenger. Roger had a Pontiac Judge. LeFarey had a Rally Sport. Randy had a kick-ass old Impala. Whatley traded in his TransAm for the first Monster Truck we'd ever seen. And we would race. Down 69 highway, up Antioch, where ever. 63rd,75th,87th,95th,103rd, 119th. I was riding with one dude who got a ticket for doing 120 in a 55. Why am I alive?