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'Twas the Night Before Christmas, by Daftlad




Twas the night before Christmas, and all round the flat

Not a creature was stirring, not even a rat.

The stockings were hung on the airer with care,

In the hope they might dry in the cold nighttime air.


They children were bundled in their one crowded bed.

While their dreams were disturbed by nits in their heads.

And mother in her onesie, and I in my mac

Had started to nod after smoking some smack.


When out on the street there arose such a clatter

I looked out the window to see what was the matter.

It was an old bloke having a slash,

After coming home late from an old mate’s birthday bash.


He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot

And his clothes were all covered in dog shit and soot.

A bundle of toys he has slung on his back

That he’d nicked from the Kid’s Home and into his sack.


“Hey mate”, I cried, is that Santa out there?”

“Not f*cking likely’, he mockingly quipped.

Then he slipped on the path that was covered in ice.

So I whipped out and mugged him in less than a trice.


With apologies to Clement Clarke.


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