Twas The Month Before Christmas Twas The Night Before Xmas '97
Twas - more silliness from 1997.
‘Twas The Month Before Christmas - My version!

'Twas The Month Before Christmas

'Twas the month before Christmas

When all through Toronto

Not a Postie was stirring, Nor even a snow plow;

The Mayor was elected by the citizens with care

In hope that Mel Lastman soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their classrooms,

While visions of freedom still danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cups,

Had just settled our brains for an El Nino nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang under my bed while she saw what was the

She tore open the shutters and showed them her ass.

The moon on her breasts looked like new-fallen snow,

And gave lustre to the middle-aged objects below,

When, what to my wandering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Ed Mirvish.

More rapid than eagles the Agros they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by

Now, Pinball! Now, Flutie! Now, Mitchell and Masotti!

On, Vanderjagt! On, Kirwan! On Casola and Smith!

To the top of the league! To the top of the CFL!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

As dry leaves before the Rough Riders fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the Argos they flew,

With a sleigh full of toys and Barbara Hall too.

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little cleat.

As I drew up my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney the ghost of Ballard came with a

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes - how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like Don Cherry's!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as grey as the snow!

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head

Like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

that shook when he laughed, just like John Candy's,

He was cheery and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I screamed when I saw him, in spite myself;

A wink in his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing but dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,

He sneered at my stockings, like thinking, you jerk

He gave me the finger, aside of his nose,

And with barely a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to the team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Don't move the Gardens, you morons! Good night!"


C.M. Harris Davies, Nov. 24, 1997

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