‘Twas the night before Christmas as I lay in bed
not a creature was stirring… except for the dead.
Some old boards were nailed over windows, with care,
in hopes that no flesh eaters could get through there.
My wife, in her nightshirt and me in my britches
had just settled in, with our thirty aught sixes.
The children were terrified under their beds
They just kept repeating, “Dad, aim for their heads.”
Cause out on the lawn we had been hearing moaning,
the screams of the innocent and occasional groaning.
So, away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore off an old board and threw up the sash
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the luster of midday to zombies below,
Then what through my Remington scope should appear
but a rotted old sleigh and eight undead reindeer.
With a red-suited driver whom I, instantly,
determined was Santa…, or, he used to be.
As the reindeer flew towards me I raised up my gun
and squeezing the trigger, I shot at each one
Shot Dasher! Whacked Dancer! Hit Prancer and Vixen!
Popped, Comet! Plugged Cupid! Capped Donder and Blitzen!
From my ‘lectrified fence to my ten foot high wall,
I blew away, blew away, blew away all
But more dead folks appeared as the others lay slain.
They gathered together and forward they came.
Then up to the front porch to start the attack,
with dead zombie Santa at the head of the pack.
And mere minutes later, that bastard Kris Kringle
climbed up on the lattice and clawed each roof shingle.
As I quickly reloaded and went whipping around,
down the chimney dead Santa Claus came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his feet,
And his clothes were all bloody from victims he’d eat.
The bag that had carried toys and candy canes,
instead was all filled up with human remains.
His eyes – like white marbles! His throat was just hissing!
His cheeks were all hallow, his nose, it was missing!
The beard on his chin was all matted with blood;
and his left ear fell off – hit the floor with a thud.
He had pink flesh hanging from between his teeth.
And the flies all encircled his head like a wreath;
He was fetid and bloated, a rancid old lout.
And I screamed when I saw him, and almost passed out.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
gave me to know I’d soon join the undead.
He clawed at my stomach, then, went straight to his work.
He grabbed my intestines then gave them a jerk.
And after he fed, he threw open the door
and let in more zombies – ‘bout 60 or more.
As they fed on my entrails and drained me of life,
I saw them devour my kids and my wife.
And the last thing I heard were these words Santa said;
“Merry Christmas to all… in the land of the dead”
Another coooool one ..
An Eighties Christmas Flashback
'Twas the night before Friday
and all through the town,
no cops were cruising,
no narks were around.
As we all rolled our joints
to be put in our sacks,
we knew that soon
we'd be stoned to the max.
We drank Jack Daniel's
And smoked Panama Red,
a hit of tea
and man I felt dead.
We were all up that midnight
all of the day, when
there was a knock at the door
that gave us away.
There stood a man
wearing a smile,
so we invited him in
to party a while.
What to our red,
glassy eyes should appear,
two pounds of Columbia
and a case of beer.
So we sat down
and he started to roll,
filled up a glass
and lit up a bowl.
We ask the man
what was his name,
he said Saint Nichol
and drugs is my fame.
So as the man
strutted out of sight,
he said mari-ju-ana to all
and to all a good night.
not a creature was stirring… except for the dead.
Some old boards were nailed over windows, with care,
in hopes that no flesh eaters could get through there.
My wife, in her nightshirt and me in my britches
had just settled in, with our thirty aught sixes.
The children were terrified under their beds
They just kept repeating, “Dad, aim for their heads.”
Cause out on the lawn we had been hearing moaning,
the screams of the innocent and occasional groaning.
So, away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore off an old board and threw up the sash
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the luster of midday to zombies below,
Then what through my Remington scope should appear
but a rotted old sleigh and eight undead reindeer.
With a red-suited driver whom I, instantly,
determined was Santa…, or, he used to be.
As the reindeer flew towards me I raised up my gun
and squeezing the trigger, I shot at each one
Shot Dasher! Whacked Dancer! Hit Prancer and Vixen!
Popped, Comet! Plugged Cupid! Capped Donder and Blitzen!
From my ‘lectrified fence to my ten foot high wall,
I blew away, blew away, blew away all
But more dead folks appeared as the others lay slain.
They gathered together and forward they came.
Then up to the front porch to start the attack,
with dead zombie Santa at the head of the pack.
And mere minutes later, that bastard Kris Kringle
climbed up on the lattice and clawed each roof shingle.
As I quickly reloaded and went whipping around,
down the chimney dead Santa Claus came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his feet,
And his clothes were all bloody from victims he’d eat.
The bag that had carried toys and candy canes,
instead was all filled up with human remains.
His eyes – like white marbles! His throat was just hissing!
His cheeks were all hallow, his nose, it was missing!
The beard on his chin was all matted with blood;
and his left ear fell off – hit the floor with a thud.
He had pink flesh hanging from between his teeth.
And the flies all encircled his head like a wreath;
He was fetid and bloated, a rancid old lout.
And I screamed when I saw him, and almost passed out.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
gave me to know I’d soon join the undead.
He clawed at my stomach, then, went straight to his work.
He grabbed my intestines then gave them a jerk.
And after he fed, he threw open the door
and let in more zombies – ‘bout 60 or more.
As they fed on my entrails and drained me of life,
I saw them devour my kids and my wife.
And the last thing I heard were these words Santa said;
“Merry Christmas to all… in the land of the dead”
Another coooool one ..
An Eighties Christmas Flashback
'Twas the night before Friday
and all through the town,
no cops were cruising,
no narks were around.
As we all rolled our joints
to be put in our sacks,
we knew that soon
we'd be stoned to the max.
We drank Jack Daniel's
And smoked Panama Red,
a hit of tea
and man I felt dead.
We were all up that midnight
all of the day, when
there was a knock at the door
that gave us away.
There stood a man
wearing a smile,
so we invited him in
to party a while.
What to our red,
glassy eyes should appear,
two pounds of Columbia
and a case of beer.
So we sat down
and he started to roll,
filled up a glass
and lit up a bowl.
We ask the man
what was his name,
he said Saint Nichol
and drugs is my fame.
So as the man
strutted out of sight,
he said mari-ju-ana to all
and to all a good night.
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