'Twas the night before Christmas in Spatula Land
not a creature was romping in surf or in sand.
All the kilts were hung by the bagpipes with care,
in hopes that a Spatula soon would be there.

The people were nestled all snug in their beds,
with visions of Pastor A’s dance in their heads.
The Captain in her BIG hat, and I without one,
had just gone to sleep to rest up for more fun.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed and climbed up a tall latter.
I ran to the window and saw a bright flash,
tore a piece of paper, and ate some good hash.

This real coldy-cold stuff that some have called snow
gave an odd whitey luster to objects below,
when, what did I see when I woke from my snooze,
but some miniature kilts worn by squishy moo moos.

With a little old leader, no fly could he hurt,
I knew in a moment it must be Herbert.
More rapid than pomies, his courses they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

"‘The Funny’ Elijah!  ‘Neandrthal Boy’ Dom!
 ‘The Glasgow-Residentator’!  And BEAN, not Tom!
To the top of the porch!  To the top of the wall!
Now do the Dance!  Do the Dance!  Do the Dance all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they said “oh babes, it hurts”, mounted to the sky
so up to the house-top the courses they flew,
with the sleigh full of chimps, and a Spatula too.

And then the sound came of, as I once heard it put,
the prancing and dancing of each moo moo’s foot.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the four moo moos and Herbert came with a bound.

They each wore a kilt, which did not surprise me,
and their clothes were tarnished by the knights who say “Neeh”.
A bundle of sails each had flung on their backs,
and they looked quite cheeky as they opened their packs.

Herbert’s eyes seemed to twinkle like those of Merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
With his bagpipes, he might put on a concert,
but the beardy-beard on his chin looked like dirt.

A bottle of Cappy he held tight in his hand,
after all it is the drink of Spatula Land.
He had a small handle and a cute round belly,
that shook when he danced, and was not at all smelly.

He was chubby and plump, a jolly Spatula,
and I laughed when I saw him, and said “hummina”.
He had dreadlocks, braids, and a stick on his head
which gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
he did the Spatula Dance looking like Kirk.
And hitting his figure three times to his nose,
he giving a wink, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to leave this flapdoodle Land,
And away the moo moos Danced with Spatulas in hand.
But I heard them exclaim, 'ere they danced out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, have a Spatula Night!"