'Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the state The people were stirring and filled up with hate; The rifles were hung by the chimney with care, And with so many handguns, no one would dare Go out but the children who sought to get stoned, Well past their curfew, they partied and roamed. Big Mama in Prada and I in my Kors Were about to step out to settle some scores; When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, We sprang to the door to see what was the matter. On second thought, though, the window was better, One quick yell would express our displeasure. The moon shone bright on the outside crowd, As I calmly explained they were being too loud; When what to my wondrous eyes should appear, But a miniature tank and a police brigadier, His regalia was crimson and his beard so white, I knew right away it would be a long night. Taking aim at the revelers, he rolled by so fast, In just a few minutes they all would be smashed; "In here!" I cried and waved my arms, I offered them refuge to save them from harm. So from the back alley and over the wall, They ran to my house, the short and the tall! As I drew in my head and was turning around The old tank approached with hardly a sound. The general smiled with a joint in his teeth, And I saw on his tank he had placed a green wreath, "I'm just here to help, and I've brought you some beer!" At that point I saw we had nothing to fear. So make merry we did and drank all his booze, Most staying the night, some taking a snooze. When the daylight appeared and the sun lit the sky, The jovial copper at last said goodbye. He sprang to his tank and turned on the engine, "There's no need here for any detention!" I heard him exclaim as he rolled out of sight, Blessings to all, and to all a respite!
The poem first appeared on spillwords.