'Twas the night before Christmas
An' all t'ru the house
Dey don't a t'ing pass
Not even a mouse.
De chirren been nezzle
Good snug on the flo'
An' Moma pass the pepper
T'ru the crack on de do'.
Den Moma in de fireplace
Done roas' up de ham
Stir up the gumbo
An' make bake de yam.
Den out on the by-you
Dey got such a clatter
Make sound' like old Boudreau
Done fall off the ladder.
I run like a rabbit
To got to de do'
An' fall on de flo' !!
As I look out de do'
In de light of de moon
I t'ink "Manh, you crazy
Or got ol' too soon.
Cuz dere on the by-you
W'en I stretch ma' neck stiff
Dere's eight alligators
A pulling a skiff.
An' a little fat drover
Wit' a long pole-ing stick
I know r'at away
Got to be ole St. Nick.
Mo' fas'er an' fas'er
De 'gator dey came
He whistle an' holler
An' call dem by name:
"Ha, Gaston!
Ha, Teboy!
Ha, Pierre an' Alcee!
Gee, Suzette!
Celeste an' Renee!
"To de top of de porch
To de top of de wall
Make crawl, alligator,
An' be sho' you don' fall."
Like Tante Flo's cat
T'ru de treetop he fly
W'en de big ole houn' dawg
Come a run hisse'f by.
Like dat up the porch
Dem ole 'gatores clim
Wit' de skiff full of toy
An' St. Nick behin'.
Den on top de porch roof
It soun' like de hail
W'en all dem big 'gator
Done sot down dey tail.
Den down de chimmy
I yell wit' a bam
An' St. Nicklus fall
An' sit on de yam.
"Sacre!!" he axclaim
"Ma pant got a hole
I done sot ma'se'f
On dem red hot coal."
He got on his foots
An' jump like a cat
Out to de flo'
Where he lan' wit' a Splat!!!
He was dress in musk-rat
From his head to his foot
An' his clothes is all dirty
Wit' ashes and soot.
A sack full of playt'ing
He t'row on his back
He look like a burglar
An' dass fo' a fack.
His eyes how dey shine
His dimple, how merry!
Maybe he been drink
De wine from blackberry.
His cheek was like a rose
His nose like a cherry
On secon' t'ough maybe
He lap up de sherry.
Wit' snow-white whisker
An' quiverin' belly
He shook w'en he laugh
Like de stromberry jelly!
But a wink in his eye
An' a shook of his head
Make me confi-dence dat
I don' got to be scared.
He don' do no talking
Gone straight to his work
Put playt'ing in sock
An' den turn wit' a jerk.
He put bot' his han'
Dere on top of his head
Cas' an eye on the chimmey
An' den he done said.
"Wit' all of dat fire
An' dem burnin' hot flame
Me I ain't going back
By de way dat I came."
So he run out de do'
An' he clim' to de roof
He ain't no fool, him
For to make one more goof.
He jump in his skiff
An' crack his big whip
De 'gator move down
An' don' make one slip.
An' I hear him shout loud
As a splashin' he go
"Merry Christmas to all
"Til I see you some mo!"
Dear Boudreaux, Tanks for da bird in da Pear tree. I fix it las' night with dirty rice. I doan tink da pear tree will grow in da swamp, so I swap it for a Satsuma.
Dear Boudreaux, Your letter say you sent two turtle doves, but all I got was two scrawny pigeon. Anyway, I mix dem with andouille (Cajun sausage) and made some gumbo out of dem.
Dear Boudreaux, Why doan you sent some crawfish. I tired of eating dem damn birds. I gave two of dose prissy French chickens to Marie Trahan over at Grans Bayou and fed da tird one to my dog, Phideaux. Marie needed some sparring partners for her fighting rooster.
Dear Boudreaux, Mon Dieux! (My God) I tole you no more friggin birds. Deez four, what you call dem, "calling birds" was so noisy you could hear dem all da way to Napoleonville. I used dere necks for my crab traps, and fed da rest of dem to da gators.
Dear Boudreaux, You finally sent someting useful. I like dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem at da pawn shop in Thibodeaux and got enuf money to fix da shaft on my shrimp boat and buy a round for da boys at da Raisin' Cane Lounge. Merci Beaucoup! (Thanks Much)
Dear Boudreaux, Couchon! (Pig!) Back to da birds, you coonass turkey! Poor egg suckin' Phideaux is scared to death at dem six geeses. He tried to eat dems eggs and dey peck da heck out ah his snout. Dey good at eating cockroaches, dough. I may stuff one of dem wit erster dressing on Christmas day.
Dear Boudreaux, I gonna wring your fool neck next time I see you. T' fi boutan! (Kiss my ass!) Thibeau, da mailman, is ready to kill you dead. Da merde (crap) from all dem birds is stinkin' up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and sue him good. I let dose seven swans loose to swim on da bayou and some duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem out of da water. Talk at you tomorrow.
Dear Boudreaux, Poor ole Thibeau had to make tree trips on his mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids a milkin and dere cows. One of dem cows got spooked by da gators and almost tipped over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me no. I tolt dem to get to work guttin fish and sweeping the shack but dey say it was no in dere contract. Dey probably tink dey to good ta skin da nutrias (Bayou Rat) I caught las night too.
Dear Boudreaux, What you trying to do, huh? Thibeau had to borrow the Lutcher ferry to carry dem jumpin twits you call Lords-a-Leaping 'cross the bayou. As soon as dey gots here dey wanted a tea break wit crumpets. I doan know what dat means but I says, "Well La Di Da. You get Chic'ry coffee or nuttin." Mon Dieu, Emile. What I'm gonna feed all dese bozos? Dey too snooty for fried nutria, and da cows ate my turnip greens.
Dear Boudreaux, You got to be out of your mind! If da mailman don't kill you, I will for sure. Today he delivered 10 half nakid floozies from Bourbon Street. Dey said dey be "Ladies Dancin" but dey doan act like ladies in front of dem Limey twits. Dey almost left after one of dem got bit by a water moccasin over by my out-house. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute le monde (everybody) and get toilet paper. Da Sears catalog was no good enuf for dose hoity-toity lord's royal behinds.
Dear Boudreaux, Where Y'at. Cheerio and pip pip. Your 11 pipers piping arrive today from da House of Blues, second lining as dey got off da boat. We fix snuffed goose and beef jambalaya, finished da whiskey and we be having a fais-do-do (Dance). Da new mailman drank a bottle of Jack Daniels and he having a good time dancing with da floozies. Da old mailman jumped off of da Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screaming your name. If you get a mysterious, ticking package in da mail, doan open it.
Dear Boudreaux, I sorry to tell you but I am not your true love no more. After da fais-do-do, I spent da night with Jacques, da head piper. We decided to open a restaurant and gentleman's club on da bayou. Da floozies, pardon me, "ladies dancing", can make $20 for a table dance, and da lords can be waiters and valet park da boats. Since da maids have no more cows to milk, I trained dem to set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, and run my shrimping business. We be probably grossing a million dollars next year finis Joyeaux Noel--Merry Christmas. May Papa Noel follow the bonfires and find your homes on Christmas Eve!
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