Twas the night before Christmas and all through my crib
Not a creature was stirring, not even my kids.
Four girls in my bed, early yuletide elation
Two black, one white, and another one Haitian
I smacked them fat booties like bongos all night
And the house smelled like sex when I turned off the light.
A half hour later, someone’s out in my lawn,
So I jumped out of bed with my rubber still on.
I looked through the glass and what did I see?
A fat dude in a suit and some bling in his teeth.
He drove a cherry Impala (‘64, red to be exact)
With chrome on the wheels that spun forward and back
He cocked his head up and gave me a wink
Then crashed through the door before I could think.
He swung his cane around in a stumbling flurry,
Knocked a lamp off my desk and then started slurring,
“Where Donna, Danica, Priscilla and Vixen?
Why ain’t my girls out treatin and trickin?”
They ran from the room, half-naked and screamin’
“Get yo asses outside, you damn right we leavin’!”
His lit Black ‘N’ Mild made the room smell like berries
And his eyes were all beady, his nose awfully hairy.
His breath reeked of cognac and he smelled like Old Spice
As he whipped out his list of hoes, naughty and nice.
He marked off the four and left the house in a hurry,
Jumped into his car as it started to flurry.
With a pick of his nose and a flick of the bogie
He revved up the engine and threw out his stogie.
He pulled out the driveway, turned around on a dime
Yelling “Merry Christmas, bitch! These hoes is mine!”
My kids had awoken and came down the stairs
Wiping sleep out of eyes and giving blank stares.
“Was that Santa?” my youngest had quietly muttered.
“Naw, baby,” I said. “Just a certified nutter.”
I put the kids to bed and kissed them goodnight,
Filled their stockings with toys, so full and so tight.
Put the presents underneath the pipe-cleaner tree
And went back to bed after a well-deserved pee.

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