‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the bar
The Drunks were stirring, coming from near and far;
The ales were chilling in the cooler with care,
In hopes that St. Micholas would soon serve beer;
The barstools were nestled all snug up along the rail,
While visions of lemon drops on the way without fail;
And Eric in his sweater, and I in my Dilworth Billiards Tuke,
Had just stocked up the coolers for evening of booze, not a fluke,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from the bar to see what was the matter.
Away to the front door we flew like a flash,
Tore onto Tremont Avenue to make sure it wasn’t a punk with a stash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen rain
Made it easy for us to make out it wasn’t a thief we distain,
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a huge cab, filled with members on their way in for a beer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he was a friend of St. Mick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Tony! now, Michael! now, Will and Tim!
On, Susan! on Eric! on, Lisa and Kim!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now drink away! drink away! drink away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild Koi Pond fly,
When they meet with no obstacle, on to order a Martini… dry,
So up to the bar the coursers they flew,
Ordering a round of booze, from St. Micholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard one of the tots
It is time, it is time for a round of shots.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
I grabbed my shaker, St. Micholas mixed with a loud sound.
I was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And my clothes were all tarnished with vodka and vermouth;
A bundle of shots I had flung on my tray,
And I looked a crowd of drinkers that needed this hideaway.
Their eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
Their cheeks were like roses, as they drank shots of cherry!
Their droll little mouths were drawn up like a bow,
As they realized the shots had to much sour, just for show;
The stump of a pipe I held tight in my teeth,
as another round of shots had Donnie wearing a wreath;
Me with a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when I laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
Their buzzes were getting better, each now a jolly elf,
And I laughed when I saw them, in spite of myself;
A wink of my eye and a twist of my head,
I soon realized these great drunks gave me nothing to dread;
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And re-filled all the shot glasses; then turned with a jerk,
And laying my finger aside of my nose,
And giving a nod, the Jager began to flow like prose;
I sprang back to my shaker, to the crowd gave a whistle,
And another round of shots appeared, some had to bristle.
This went on for hours until the wee hours with no fright,
“Then I said Merry Christmas to all and it’s time for the fat kid to drink.”