Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shack,
Not a thing was a movin, from the front to the back,

The kids were in bed, I believe we had nine,
The wife in her curlers, was lookin real fine.

A cold wind was blowin, up the holler it moaned,
All seven dogs on the porch howled and groaned.

The boys were all dreamin of weapons and guns,
For killin Gods creatures, theres no better fun.

The girls in their feminine dreams were attuned,
To getting those gallons of Wal*Mart perfume.

The wife wanted jewelry, like rings with big rocks,
I wanted my Chevy, down off the blocks.

Then in the yard, such a noise did commence,
Like something was caught, in the barb-wire fence.

I ran to the window, and saw pretty quick,
The man makin the racket, was Good Ol St. Nick.

You may think of Santa, in your own minds eye,
Dressed in a red and white suit, But Ive got a surprise.

That old boys an Arkie, our fair state he wont failer,
He married his cousin, and they live in a trailer.

On Christmas, of course, a sleigh for his rig,
He hooks the thing up, to a razorback pig.

He climbed on the roof, with his bag full of goodies,
He backed down the fireplace, all dirty and sooty.

Fat legs in his britches, chubby hands in his mittens,
I admit from the back, he looked like Bill Clinton.

He turned toward the tree, His eyes all aglow,
He was a Southern boy, from his head to his toe.

His neck was a red one, his shirt said Light Beer,
There was no red hat, his cap read,John Deere.

He left all the presents, with an air of delight,
Then it was back to the chimney, and into the night

He ran into the yard, and threw his bag in the sleigh,
Then he yelled at the dogs, to get out of the way.

And I heard him exclaim, as those pigs took to flight,
Merry Christmas to all, And to all … A bud lite