Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the streets

All the buttpigs were snoring, they'd et too much cheese;

 

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

and so was St. Nicholas, rock hard in the air;

 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

and they're not involved in this, don't be a pest;

 

Leather-mum in her apron, and I in my mask,

and when I say chimney, I do mean my ass;

 

Our reverie disturbed by an outside noise,

I sprang from my sling as I was expecting the boys;

 

Away to the window I ran like an ox,

My christmas baubles wobbling like michael j fox;

 

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,

Or maybe just twinks in a leather veneer,

 

I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick,

Based on the white pubes and the jolly red... Look I think you know where I'm going with this. A lot of the original poem is quite gay anyway, I suggest you go read that one. Merry Christmas.