'Twas the night before Christmas, and we were all blotto,
And smoking and gambling like there was no tomorrow;

The stockings were hung o'er the lanterns with care,
In hopes we could dry out our wet underwear;

The chips were all nestled so snug in their piles,
While visions of trump-suited cards gave us smiles;
And sarge in his helmet and I in my cap,
were covered in dirt and some form of tree sap,
When from out of the tent, there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our game to see what was the matter.
Away to the tent flap we flew like a flash,
Abandoning chips, and the booze, and the cash.
The moon on the snow and the fields and the trenches
Gave the lustre of mid-day through all the tall branches.
When, what should I see through my twelve whiskey shots,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny grots,
With a gigantic driver, so bulkey and slow,
Who souted with fervor, "Oy! Look out below!"
More rapid than eagles, the snotlings they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now Choppa! Now Crusha! Now Shoota and Kickz'Em!
On, Busta! On, Loota! On Blasta and Blitz'Em!
I'll kick 'ure 'eads in if you let my sleigh fall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away, all!"
Then as dry leaves from the hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky,
So just as haphazard, the gretchin, they flew,
With a sleigh full of stuff, and a giant ork too.

And then, with a belch, we heard from behind
The picking of nostrils and the flicking of slime.
I drew out my boot knife, and then turned around,
From the shadow came Orky Klawz, out with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with muck and and with soot;
A bundle of something he'd flung on his back,
And looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they glistened, his dimples, how putrid!
His cheeks were like mildew, his nose green and vivid!
His mouth with the teeth coming up from below,
Fake beard on his chin looking dingy and yellow;
The stump of a stogie held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face, and a zit full of puss,
That shook when he WAAAAUGHed like a bowl of mucus.
He was fat and was flabby, a jolly old fungus,
And I balked when I saw him, he was just that humungous;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And hucked out his presents; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger inside of his nose,
And giving a nod, a foul stench then arose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

"Merry Krismuz to all, and to all a good fight!"