Twas de "night before Christmas", when all tru de house, all de fellers was tinkin 'bout puddin an' souse.
De hams were all hung by de sideboard wid care, in hopes that tomorrow, there'd be nuff sweet food to share.
De chil'ren were ball-up all tight in their beds, while visions of pumpkin fritters danced in their heads.
You cud smell de sweet bread in de oven from far, and I had just crack a fresh bottle of Cockspur 5 Star.
When out in de chicken coop there arose such a clatter. I jump up from my ottama to see wha de ram-bam was de matter.
Away to the window I flew like a zr van, equip wid 2 big salt breads, holdin in my hand.
The moon on de dunks tree looked so lovely an'bright, but it suddenly occured to me that I was tired as shite.
When, what with my malicious eyes do I see?
Wuh loss! A big musty santa-pee (ie.centepede), right by my feet!
Bring de cutlass goah-blemmuh! Dis ting gine bite me!
And de nex ting I look, it was up by my knee.
More rapid than Winston Hall dis ting start to climb, if I had some Baygon, I knew I'd be fine.
The brow of my forehead was starting to sweat, But wait! I hadda idea...I wasn't done for yet.
So I grabble piece a board and give it a chop, Wax! Puhlax! Bruggadung! Brax! I would not stop.
You shudda see de ting denn, it tek so much licks...
It was now all over the floor, like corn beef on Crix.
But Beryl was 'busing as bad as could be, 'bout how I dirty up de floor wid dead santa-pee.
Ah tell she doan worry and ah tell she don fret, bout that foolish old gal like she ain hear ma yet.
She keep making bare noise and giving backchat, so I chop she wid a salt bread, and dat was de end ah dat.
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