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Twas the night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a Toucher was stirring, not even the HOF.
The stockings were hung by the VB bar with care,
In hopes that The Chairman soon would be there.

The kids were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of winning games danced in their heads.
And the VC in old man shorts, and I in my baseball cap,
Had just settled our brains for a very big drink.

When out on the prize winning lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch 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 gum leaves
Made such a mess that the VC would fix tomorrow
When, what to my blood shot eyes should appear,
But a Triton Ute, and nine fellow Toucher's.

With a little old driver, so achingly slow,
I knew in a moment it must be the Chairman.
More rapid than eagles his Touchers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Jonty! now, Billy! now, Rookie, now Kiwi and Milt!
On, Locksmith! On, BBB! on, on B1 and B2!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little boot.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney the Chairman came with a bound.

He was dressed in his boardies and singlet, and the fit was very tight,
And his clothes were all tarnished with bacon egg and sauce.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a gear steward, just opening his sack.

The stump of a kebab he held tight in his teeth,
And the stench that encircled his head made the VC screech.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a pool full of wrestling jelly!

He was tanned, and glowing, a right jolly old Toucher,
And I laughed at him, like we do a political backbencher!
A wink of his bloodshot eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had something to dread.

He gave his usual speech that seemed to never end,
And filled all the stockings, with a lovely red wine blend.
And putting his finger right inside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a clear referees whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all Touchers, and to all a good-night!"



Original version written by Clement Clark Moore

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