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'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
there were bottles 'n butts
left around by some louse.
And the best fifth I'd hidden
by the chimney with care
had been snatched by some bum,
who'd found it right there.
My pals, guys 'n gals, had
been poured in their beds,
to wake in the morning
with hung over heads.
My mouth, full of cotton,
dropped down with a snap
because I was dying
for one wee night cap.
When thru the south window
there came such a yell,
I sprang to my feet to see
what the hell...
And what to by bloodshot
eyes should I see,
but eight drunken reindeer
caught up in a tree.
Way 'mongst the branches
was a man with a sleigh
I saw it was Santa
quite oiled and gay.
Staggering nearer those
eight reindeer came,
which he hiccuped and belched
and called them by name:
"On Whiskey! On Vodka!
We ain't got all night!
You too, Gin and Brandy
now all do it right!
Clamber up on the roof
get the hell off this wall,
Get going you rummies!!!
We've still got a long haul!"
So up on the roof went
the reindeer and sleigh
but a tree branch hit Santa
before he could sway.
And then to my ears like
the roll of a barrel,
a hell of a noise that was
no Christmas carol.
So I pulled in my head
and cocked a sharp ear,
down the chimney he plunged
landing smack on his rear.
He was dressed all in red
and white fur for a trim,
the way Santa swayed
he was tanked to the brim.
The sack on his back held
nothing but booze
and the breath that he blew
almost put me to snooze.
He was both plump and chubby
and he tried to stand right,
but he didn't fool me
he was high as a kite!
He spoke not a word
but went straight to work
and missed half the stockings,
the plastered old jerk.
Then putting his thumb
to the end of his nose,
he fluttered his fingers
as he quoted prose.
A spring for his sleigh
at so hasty a pace,
tripped him up on a shingle
and he fell on his face.
But I heard him burp back
as he passed out of sight,
"Merry Christmas, you lushes,
now really get tight!"
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