[RHClarke]

The Night Before Christmas - the Hammond Barn version
With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore (author of the original poem)

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the farm
Not a creature was stirring, not even at the Hammond barn.
The trucks were parked by the barn with care,
In hopes that St Blitz soon would be there.

The Rotters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of split rims danced in their heads.
And the cats in the shelters, and the mice in the packs,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Bob sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the barn down below.
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature CMP truck, and eight tiny beer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
He knew in a moment it must be St Blitz.
Swerving and bouncing through the snow he came,
And he belched, and farted, and called them by name!

"Now Keiths! Now, Labatt! Now, Pilsner and Victoria Ale!
On, Carlsberg! On, Coors! On Dublin X and Black Label!
To the top of the barn! To the top of the wall!
Now drink away! Drink away! Drink away all!"

As dry heaves that after the hangover do us try,
When he meets with an obstacle, bounced to the sky.
So up to the barn-top the old coot flew,
With the truck full of beer, and St Blitz too.

And then, in a twinkling, Bob heard a distinct tap
The popping and spinning of a small bottle cap.
As he entered the barn, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Blitz came with a bound.

He was dressed in coveralls, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with grease and soot.
A bundle of tools he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a mechanic, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how black rimmed! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like dumplings, his nose like a raspberry!
His stern little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a cigar he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of naval jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old git,
And Bob laughed when he saw him, and almost did shit!
A wink of his eye and a twist of a cap,
Soon tossed him a beer that landed in his lap.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the tool boxes, then turned with a smirk.
And laying his finger inside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up Lucifer’s chimney he rose!

He sprang to his truck, and to Bobby did whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But Bob heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Motoring to all Rotters, and to all Rotters a good-night!"


I won't be giving up my day job - yet! Merry Christmas from the Rotters!