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The Night Before Christmas in the Shack 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Shack, Not a creature was stirring, in this dump in Iraq; The stockings were hung with little Holiday cheer, In hopes that St. Nicholas didn't forget we were here; Angel was nestled all snug in his cot, With visions of killing a Haji with an M16 shot; And Prince in his poncho, and Luke with his mug, Sipping some coffee, while giving Harvey a hug, When out on the rocks there arose a few bodies, I sprang from my cot to see someone stolen the potties. Away to the window I flew like a lap, Tore open the cardboard window and threw up the bubble wrap. The moon on the breast of the new fallen sand, Gave the lust of a vacuum in extreme demand, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a hi-tech sleigh, and eight drunken reindeer, I knew at that moment it must be St. Nick, When I hit him in the head with a stepping side kick. More rapidly than eagles his homies they came, And he hollered and gave shout outz to his homies by name. "Now Dasher! now Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! on Cupid! OH Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the shack, to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away losers and all!" As dry leaves that burn on a wild hurricane fly, Looked like Santa was smokin', his reindeers were high, So up to the house-top the homies they flew, With the sleigh full of crap, and that Blockhead... yeah Nicholas too! And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the ceiling, The reindeer homies, as the new paint on the shack was a peeling, As I drew out my rifle and shot all around, Through a hole in the ceiling the Fat man came down. He was dressed in pure silk, his head to his foot, With sunglasses to match and an Armani suit, A bundle of checks he had in his hand, He looked like a pimp with a couple of grand. His eyes-- how they twinkled! His ears were real big! His cheeks were like roses, and was fat as a pig! His hustler like mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the hat on his head made him look like a ho; The end of a cigar he held tight between his lips, And the smoke it encircled like big battle ships, He had a broad face, and a little round belly, When he lifted his arms, boy, was it smelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I slapped his fat head, in spite of myself; A flick of his cigar, and a twist of his head, Gave me the signal to shoot this guy dead; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And fill the stockings with dynamite, that stupid jerk, And placing a finger inside of his nose, Gave a nod, and up the hole he arose. He sprang to his sleigh and gave a shout, "These soldiers are crazy, we have to get out," We fired upon him, and down came his sleigh, Next year Christmas will be better, but this year, "no way!" |