Ok tis the season to haul this one out again. I am not the author.
'Twas the night before Christmas, cold, dark and foreboding,
As I sat at the workbench, quite busy reloading
The empties from autumn were polished so clear
For primers and powder, and bullets from Speer
And Sierra boat-tails, 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 Midway, 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 protect 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 Hillary?
Or a staggering Ted Kennedy, reaking of distillery?
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 open wide,
To find St. Nick a'shivering, Rudolph by his side
He eyeballed my Commander, with a nod of approval
"You're all set," he said, "for dirtball removal."
"But this 'tis 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 'morrow"
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, John 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, Rudolph 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!"