’Twas the Night before Christmas, and all through the shack
Not a creature was stirrin’, cept the lice on muh back.
The skoal cans wuz nailed to the screen door with care,
With hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were sleepin’, all snug in their beds,
While visions of tractor pulls danced in their heads.
And Ma in her nightgown all stained with pound cake.
Had just settled down to watch Ricki Lake.
When out in the driveway, a loud noise I heard,
I opened the winder to check muh T-bird.
I ran to the door, like I’s on a mission,
But I tripped on some parts from muh granny’s transmission.
The moon shone outside, the hound dog wuz barkin’.
Muh daughter weren't home yet, she wuz still out parkin’.
When what to muh whiskey blind eyes should I see
But a Chevy S-10, pulled by eight flyin’ sheep.
With a fat nasty driver, so disgustin’ and sick
I said “Shoot Fire!” That must be St. Nick!
More rapid than X-lax his wooly sheep came
And he belched and he hollered, and he called ’em by name.
Now CLIFFORD! Now VERNON! Now LESTER and ENUS!
On FESTUS! On ELMER! On ROSCOE and CLETUS!
From the top of the shack to them there garbage bins
Now Dash Away! Dash Away! Dash Away youins!
I heard a loud sound on the roof of muh shack.
Pud down muh beer and went fer muh gun rack.
He fell through the roof, plum killed my dog,
I swear that ole’ Santa looked just like Boss Hog.
He wore a T-shirt, rebel flag on the front,
And his jeans were all bloody from that morning’s hunt.
A big nekkid lady tattooed on his arm,
And he wore black boots that he’d picked up in ’Nam.
His eyes, how they glazed from too much Wild Turkey.
From the side of his mouth hung a stick of beef jerky.
A scar on his cheek from a fight with the cops.
The veins on his face looked ready to pop.
The butt of a Marlboro clung to his lip
He wore a hip pack full of B-B-Q chips.
He had a fat face and a hairy beer belly.
I ain’t seen one that big since muh ex-wife Shelly.
He was gap-toothed and dumb with an I.Q. of three
And I laughed cause that redneck was smarter than me.
A wink of his eye, a fierce shake of his head,
From his hair came a rat that ran under the bed.
He reached in his sack, sipped his gin and tonic,
Then filled the kid’s stockings with Hooked on Phonics.
His toys came from Big Lots and they weren’t very nice
But he had lots of them and yuh can’t beat the price.
He gave us a tape of them hound dogs that sing
Jingle Bells ringing on ma dingaling.
Some Crisco, some Spam, some Oatmeal Cream pies,
And a Nascar T-shirt in Double X size.
When the presents were gone and he had no more,
He staggered and stumbled right through muh screen door.
He hopped in his truck, to his sheep gave an order
“Hurry up youins! To the Tennessee border!”
And I heard him cry out, with a strong southern drawl,
“MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU REDNECKS!
MERRY CHRISTMAS Y’ALL!”
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