Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the swamp,
There was nada happenin', now thats pretty bad.
The the firepit was going in the same old routine,
In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.
the Gators were all nestled down snug in their beds,
While visions of new chrome danced in their heads.
When out in the yard there arose such a racket,
I ran for the door and pulled on my jacket.
I saw a large Biker on a 56 Pan
Wearin' black leathers, a cap, and boots (cool biker, man).
He hauled up the bars on that bikeful of sacks,
And that Pan hit the roof like it was running on tracks.
I couldn't help gawking, the old guy had class.
But I had to go in -- I was freezing my ass.
Down through the stovepipe he fell with a crash,
And out of the stove he came dragging his stash.
With a smile and some glee he passed out the loot,
A new jacket for Hellbone and some parts Soda's scoot.
He patted Rud's fanny and shook Mega's right hand,
Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.
From up on the roof came a great deal of thunder,
As that massive V-twin ripped the silence asunder.
With beard in the wind, he roared off in the night,
Shouting, "Have a cool Yule, and to all a good ride!"