'Twas the night before /brit/tmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was seething, not even a scouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Britolas soon would be there;
Apu posters were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of Kate Bush plums danced in their heads;
And Poombs in "her" 'kerchief, and 22st in his driver's cap,
Had just settled their brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature seether and eight tiny dicked-queers,
With a little old nonce so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. /brit/
More rapid than eagles in his own pants he came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called us all names:
"Now, Daftie! now, Shit Pantser! now Pepe and Ginnie!
On, Coomer! on, Puglad! on, Noncer and Schizo!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the posters they flew
With the sleigh full of seethe, from St. Britolas' poo—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The grooming and pawing of each little poof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Britolas came with a bound.
He was dressed as a furfag, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with poo and soot;
A bundle of bans he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a happy merchant just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they seethed! his dimples, how gay!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the coom on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a queer face and a little round belly
That shook when he reeed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right miserable old (((elf))) ,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A glare of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had bans to dread;[Expand Post] He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And banned all the good lads; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger up his own arse,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he passed;
He sprang to his sneething, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“A dull /brit/mas to all, and to all, sneethe tight!”