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'Twas the night before the New Year. Gawd! All the beer had gone dry
Not a house or a tavern could renew our supply.
Was I too drunk to recall if what followed was fact?
While we drunks were all praying, I swear, Santa came back.

That sleigh and the reindeers he'd arrived in last week,
Was nowhere in sight and what we saw made us freak.
It was an over-sized beer truck. A piece of crappy old junk.
That was drawn by eight alkies. All were drunk as a skunk.

They roared toward our man-cave we were filled full of doubt.
Could he stop? Would he stop? To his team came this shout.
"Whoa Boozer! Whoa Nipper! whoa! Rummy and Bouser!"
"Halt Wino! Halt Swiller! Halt Lush and Carouser!"

The beer truck halted when those drunkards all stopped
In a heap they all fell -like rocks that were dropped.
Santa stepped from the beer truck, his toe caught on a rail,
And he plopped to the ground, rolling round like a whale.

But, he pulled himself up and he brushed off his suit,
He sure looked like Santa, from that cap to his boot.

You could tell he was whacked, the drunken old coote,
What honor he brought, I thought, to the suit.
I drunkenly asked him, "Santa weren't you just here?
What makes you come back? It's been a week, not a year."

"It seems you've run dry," Santa said with a sneer.
"I heard you drunks pray, You'd trade your souls for a beer.
I know boozers go bonkers when the brewski runs out,
I'll trade you some Pale Ale or perhaps you'd like Stout."

If Santa wanted a trade we were glad to comply,
Beer drinkers will barter. We just cannot go dry.

"My reindeers and elves they have all gone on strike,
They say I work them too hard, so they all took a hike.
So I'll trade for your children in exchange for my hop,
They'll work till next Christmas in my Santa's workshop.

Even beer drinkers know there's a line you don't cross,
You can't trade your kids without including the "Boss."
"We'll throw in our wives," we beer drinkers shout.
"If you take them ALL with you, it's a deal for the draught."

Santa seemed to be happy with the trade he'd arranged,
We thought ourselves genius, but Santa called us "deranged."
Santa seemed to have sobered and looked at us with disdain,
And a look passed his eyes that we couldn't explain.

Then laying his thumb just aside of his nose,
He wiggled his fingers in a "Kiss my a--" pose.

"You guys see if your brew is as good as you think
When you find yourselves sober ALONE with your drink."
And I head him exclaim as he was grinding the gear,
"What jerks trade their families for a bottle of beer?"

A drunk knows no insults, he'll give all for his beer,
Sure, we swapped all our families, But for only a year.



































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