'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, AND ALL THROUGH THE SHACK,
NOT A DARN THING WAS A MOVIN', FROM THE FRONT TO THE BACK. THE
KIDS WERE IN BED, WE HAD NINE AT THE TIME, THE WIFE IN HER
CURLERS, WAS LOOKIN' REAL FINE.

A COLD WIND WAS BLOWIN', UP THE HOLLER IT MOANED,
TEN DOGS ON THE PORCH ALL HOWLED AND GROANED.
THE BOYS WERE ALL DREAMIN' OF WEAPONS AND GUNS,
FOR KILLIN' GOD'S CREATURES, ... THERE'S 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 JUST WANTED MY CHEVY DOWN OFF OF THEM BLOCKS.

THEN OUT IN YARD, SUCH A NOISE DID COMMENCE,
LIKE SOMETHING WAS CAUGHT IN OUR NEW BOB-WAR FENCE.
I RAN TO THE WINDOW, AND SAW PRETTY QUICK,
THE MAN MAKIN' THAT RACKET, WAS GOOD OL' ST. NICK.

YOU MAY THINK OF SANTA IN YOUR OWN MIND'S EYE,
DRESSED IN A RED AND WHITE SUIT, BUT I'VE GOT A SURPRISE.

THAT OLD BOY'S AN ARKIE, FROM UP NEAR MT. GAYLOR,
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 MUST ADMIT FROM THE BACK, HE LOOKED LOTS LIKE BILL CLINTON.

HE TURNED TOWARD THE TREE, HIS EYES ALL AGLOW,
HE WAS AN ARKANSAS BOY FROM HIS HEAD TO HIS TOE.
HIS NECK WAS A RED ONE, HIS SHIRT SAID "LITE BEER",
HE HAD NO RED HAT ON, BUT 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, THREW HIS BAG IN THE SLEIGH,
THEN HE YELLED AT THE DOGS, "GET THE HELL OUT TH' WAY!"
I RAN OUT TO ASK HIM WHY HE BROUGHT SUCH GOOD CHEER;

BUT INSTEAD HE JUST ASKED ME, "YOU GET YOU A DEER?"
THEN I HEARD HIM EXCLAIM, AS THAT PIG TOOK FLIGHT,
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL ... I NEED A BUD LITE!"