Okay, Im a hypocrite. (Hippycrite?) Sue me. I used to like Christmas back then. Besides, it took me ages to find this, so you are getting it whether you want it or not.

From the Bench Racer 1962, stolen from the Foothills Street Rod Association at fsra.org

YULESVILLE

Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the pad,
Not a hep cat was swinging – and thats nowhere, dad,

The stove was hung up in that stocking routine,
Like, maybe the fat man would soon make the scene.

The kids that fell by had just made the street;
I was ready for Snoresville, and man, was I beat;

When there started a rumble that came on real frantic,
So I opened the window to figure the panic.

I saw a slick rod that was making fat tracks,
Souped up by eight ponies, all wearing hat racks;

And a funny old geezer was flipping his lid.
He told them to make it, and man, like they did!

They were out of the chute, making time like a bat,
Turning the quarter in eight seconds flat.

They parked by the smokestack in bunches and clusters,
And Chubby slid down, coming on like gangbusters,

His threads were from Cubesville and I had to chuckle,
In front, not in back, was his Ivy league buckle!

And the mop on his chin had a button-down collar,
And with that red nose he looked like a baller.

Like he was the squarest, the most absolute,
But lets face it, who cares when he left all that loot?

He laid the jazz on me and peeled from the gig,
Wailing, Have a cool Yule, Man! and clutched off in his rig.