The Night before Christmas

The Night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

There were cigarettes and butts left around by some louse.

And the best quart I had hidden by the chimney with care,

had been pinched by some rat who discovered it there.

My friends had long since been poured in their beds,

to wake in the morning with pulsating heads.

When through the north window there came such a smell,

that I sprang to my feet to see what the hell ……

And what to my wondering eyes should show up,

but eight drunken reindeer hitched to a beer truck.

With a little old driver who looked like a hick,

but I saw it was Santa as tight as a tick.

Staggering onward the eight reindeer came,

as he hiccoughed and burped and called them by name.

“On Bourbon, on Vodka, you too, Scotch and Rye,

we better get going before we’re too high .”

“Get up on that roof; get the hell off this wall;

get going you dummies, we have got a long haul.”

So up on the roof went the reindeer and truck,

but a tree branch hit Santa before he could duck.

As I drew in my head and turned a sharp ear,

down the chimney he plunged, landing smack on his rear.

He had stubbies and cans in the sack on his back,

and a breath that would blow a freight train off the track.

He was dressed all in fur, no cuffs on his pants,

and the way the guy squirmed — well I guess he had ants.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work—

and missed half the stockings — the plastered old jerk.

Then extending two fingers at the side of his nose,

he gave me the sign and up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh at so hasty a pace,

that he slipped on a cable and slid on his face.

But I heard him burp as he drove out of sight,


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