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Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, with hopes that new bike stuff would soon be in there.
The kids were all nestled all snug in their beds. With hats on their head, and their shoe covers for warm toes, they were warm and toasty even though its twenty below.
When out on the lawn I heard such a clash, I knew in an instant it had to be a Tour de France crash. Away to the window I flew like a flash, I tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of mid day to the objects below. When what to my wondering eye did suddenly appear. But a Long Haul trucker and a big sack of beer.
With an old man for a rider, not too lively or quick. I think to myself, could this be Saint Nick?
More rapid the down hill from a ramp he did jump, and up on the house top he hit with a thump. As I quickly as I could, I turned around, and an instant down the chimney he came with a bound.
Bibs all covered in fur from his head to his foot, covered in chain grease that had blended with soot. His eyes how they twinkled so jolly and merry, and a belly that shook like a bowl filled with jelly. His nose was round and colored bright red, that I knew in an instant he had to be a Fred.
He spoke not a word, but got right to work. Pulling the barbed wire right out of his butt, I knew in a flash he had just been hit by a nut. He filled all the stockings with gels and cliff bars, and then added some shot blocks and gift cards to nashbar.
Then laying a finger beside his nose in a flash up the chimney he goes. He sprang to his bike and then gave a whistle down the roof to the ramp he did fly, to a ramp to make his goodbye.
I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all, as he turned on his headlight
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, with hopes that new bike stuff would soon be in there.
The kids were all nestled all snug in their beds. With hats on their head, and their shoe covers for warm toes, they were warm and toasty even though its twenty below.
When out on the lawn I heard such a clash, I knew in an instant it had to be a Tour de France crash. Away to the window I flew like a flash, I tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of mid day to the objects below. When what to my wondering eye did suddenly appear. But a Long Haul trucker and a big sack of beer.
With an old man for a rider, not too lively or quick. I think to myself, could this be Saint Nick?
More rapid the down hill from a ramp he did jump, and up on the house top he hit with a thump. As I quickly as I could, I turned around, and an instant down the chimney he came with a bound.
Bibs all covered in fur from his head to his foot, covered in chain grease that had blended with soot. His eyes how they twinkled so jolly and merry, and a belly that shook like a bowl filled with jelly. His nose was round and colored bright red, that I knew in an instant he had to be a Fred.
He spoke not a word, but got right to work. Pulling the barbed wire right out of his butt, I knew in a flash he had just been hit by a nut. He filled all the stockings with gels and cliff bars, and then added some shot blocks and gift cards to nashbar.
Then laying a finger beside his nose in a flash up the chimney he goes. He sprang to his bike and then gave a whistle down the roof to the ramp he did fly, to a ramp to make his goodbye.
I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all, as he turned on his headlight