`Twas the night before Christmas, cold, dark and foreboding,
As I sat at the work bench, quite busy reloading.
The empties from autumn were polished so clear
For primers and powder, and bullets from Speer
And Hornady's soft-points, and Nosler's Partitions
(MY bench ain't no place for brand name omissions!)
All sat in their boxes, right next to the press
With dies from Pacific, and RCBS
When all of a sudden there came such a jolt,
I grabbed for my Mossberg, and whipped out my Colt.
As I spilled Hodgdon's powder all over the shelf
I scrambled for cover, just to pro-tect myself
From up on the rooftop, came hoofbeats and snorting
Like the noise out of L'il Rock, from Clinton's cavorting!
I eased off the safety, to press-check my auto
With 230-hardball, I'd knock 'em all blotto
Were these rogue federal agents, sent by Schumer and Reno?
Or a staggering Ted Kennedy, in bad need of Beano?
My question was answered with a knock, and some sneezing,
"It's Santa, you moron, lemme in there, I'm freezing!"
I flipped off the dead-bolt and threw the door wide,
To find St. Nick a'shivvering, Rudolph by his side
He eyeballed my Springfield, with a nod of approval
"You're all set," he said, "for dirtball removal."
"But this is no raid, we're not here to harm you
Or persecute, prosecute or even disarm you"
Instead, said dear Santa, he needed to borrow
My .357, 'till day after tomorrow
"It's okay," he assured me, with a hint of frustration.
"I'm enrolled in the National Rifle Association"
He showed me his card, 'twas a Life Member rating
"I've had this since me and the missus were dating!"
"And you see, Dave ol' buddy, I've gotten real nervous
"Since Feinstein was elected, with a promise to serve us
"So henceforth as I'm out there, my presents a'stackin'
"I want to assure you, I'm legally packin'
"And my gift for you this year, should give you a hoot
"I've told the Supreme Court to give Brady the boot!
"Now, Rudy and I must be on our way"
He said, as he climbed back on the seat of his sleigh
With the reins in his hand, and my Smith in his pocket
He jingled the sleighbells and was off like a rocket
With a pair of speedloaders, and ammo to spare
I knew he'd be safe, he was loaded for bear
As he faded from view, I could still hear him calling
"From D.C., where 'P.C.' is already falling
"To bad guys in L.A., Detroit and Atlanta
"I'm licensed to carry. Don't be messin' with Santa!"
'Twas the night before Kwanzaa, and all through the slum,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a bum.
The children had braided their cornrows with care,
In the hope that Saint Malcolm would soon be there.
The Crips and the Bloods made their holiday peace;
The protesters protested: "Fuck tha' police!"
The Jews and Koreans hid under their beds,
While visions of rioters danced in their heads.
In a crackhouse, some pipeheads were lighting a rock,
When all of a sudden there came a loud knock.
And what to their wondering eyes did appear,
But Los Angeles' finest in full riot gear!
Boards fell from the doorway and crashed to the floor,
And landed in front of a twelve year old whore.
The cops went to work with their nightsticks in hand,
Swinging at skulls as the badguys ran.
A beating ensued as they tried to escape,
But nobody got it on videotape.
A loud cry was heard as they managed to flee:
"Merry Christmas, you punks, from the L.A.P.D.!"
Greg Sullivan "Sully"