'Twas the da night before Christmas and all troo da U.P.
Not a Yooper was eating, not even a pasty.
Da flannel shirts were hung by da sauna wid care
In hopes dat Saint Nick would soon be dare.
Da liddle ones were nestled all snug in dare beds
While visions of ludefisk swan in dare heads.
And Mama in her long-johns and I in my chook
Had just settled our bellies after a plate of chinook,
When out on da lawn dare was dis big sound.
I jumps out a bed to see wad da heck's goin on.
And out on my front lawn so early in da morn
Is dis small pick-up truck and eight tiny spikehorn
—You see, Santa's on a budget dis year.
. . . Anyways
Da little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knews right dare it must be St. Nick.
Faster dan smelt in spring day came
And he huffed and puffed and called dem by name:
"Now Toivo, Now Aino, Now Sulo and Arvo,
On Larry, On Daryl, On da udder deer Daryl.
To da top of da porch to da top of da wall,
Now dash away dash away dash away all."
I's look back in cause I's hears dis big sound.
Down da chimney St. Nick came wid a bound.
His eye, day did twinkle, his dimples so merry,
His nose was red, probably just came from Trenary.
Da stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And da smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He has dis broad face and a round little belly
Dat shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
Dis guy's got a belly, a red nose, and he smokes
. . . somebody should check his blood pressure.
. . . Anyways . . .
He doesn't say a ting, just does his job,
And fills all da socks wid corn on da cob.
He sprang to his truck and tells his spikehorns to go,
And away day all flew like it was da middle of hunting season.
But I heards him say as he drove troo da air,
"Happy Christmas, Yoopers," and to all a big "Hey dare!"
