The Epic of Santa

T'was the night before Christmas and all through the house.

There were bottles of booze left around by some louse.

When thru the north window there came loud a yell.

I sprang to my feet to see what the hell...

And what to my bloodshot eyes should I see.

But eight drunken reindeer caught up in a tree.

And there in the branches, was a man with a sleigh.

I knew it was Santa, quite tiddly and gay.

Staggering nearer those eight reindeer came.

While he belched and hiccoughed 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, and get off this wall.

Get goin you rummy's, we've still 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 I cocked a sharp ear.

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

He was both plump and chubby and and tried to stand upright.

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 drunken old jerk.

Then putting his thumb to the end of his nose.

He fluttered his fingers as he quoted prose.

As he sprung for his sleigh at so hasty a pace.

He tripped on a shingle and slid on his face.

But I heard him call back as he passed out of sight.

"Merry Christmas, you lushes, now really get tight!"