A spin on the populata poem for Chrismas in New Jersey. Santa leaves it to his italian half brother Vito Claus to take care of the state of Joisey.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat
Not a creature was stirring, not even a rat;
The stockings were hung by the radiator with care,
In hopes that Vito Claus soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Italian sausage danced in their heads;
And mamma in her nightgown, and I in my thong,
Had just settled down smoking a big fat bong,
When out on the alley there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the blanket and threw open the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the trashcans below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a trans-am, and eight Italians standing dere,
With a young driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Vito Claus.
More rapid than eagles his hitmen they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Knuckles! Now, Fingers! Now, Gweto and Tony!
On, Mo! On Vinnie! On, Alvin and Benny!
To the top of the fire-escape! To the top of the wall!
Now climb away! climb away! climb away all!"
As quick as a flash before the wind blew,
They flew up the stairs with tools in hand,
Breaking and entering their remarkable plan,
With the sack full of toys, boosted from Sears, oh what a man.
I heard on the roof thumping and footsteps.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Vito Claus came with a bound.
He was dressed in cheap silk, from his head to foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a joint he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a narrow face and a thin little belly,
That was muscular, and rippled when he laughed
He was built and strong, a right jolly old Italian Elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, through the window he clambered,
He sprang to the street to his trans-am, where he gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like down a thistle.
But as he drove out of sight i heard his exclaim with a shout
"Happy Christmas to all, and yo all a good-night."