Twas the night before Christmas and all through the shack
I could hear the distinct sounds of my Grandpappy's hack.
We had just hung our stockings in a jubilant mood,
In hopes that St. Elvis would bring us some food.
Daddy was nestled all snug in his bed,
Coal dust covering his pillow and head.
No wood in the stove, the cold numbed my feet,
To add insult to injury, Ol' Red was in heat.
When, out on the lawn I heard the grinding of gears,
I sprang from my bed almost frightened to tears
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh pulled by a dark green John Deere
With a little ol' driver shaking his pelvis,
I instantly knew that it must be St. Elvis.
He was dressed all in sequins from his head to his toes,
And the top of his lip curled up to his nose.
His hips how they twitched, his gut was gigantic --
When he leaned on the porch rail, I went into a panic.
Huffing and puffing, his face turning red
Soon gave me to know he'd come back from the dead.
He sang not a note but went straight to his work,
Filled all the stockings, and turned with a jerk.
Then, hitching his pants, lumbered back to the sleigh,
Fired up the tractor, and was soon on his way.
But he bid us adieu with his personal touch...
"Merry Christmas to all and THANK-YA-VERA-MUCH!"