The Friday Before Christmas

Twas the Friday before Christmas, whilst at the work house,
All the creatures were busy, with a click of their mouse.
Then thoughts of all work were thrown in the air,
They were leaving for Christmas, so they didn’t care. 

The children were xboxing whilst sat on their beds,
While Call of Duty and Halo was filling their heads,
The Mrs was home sorting that last minute thing,
While he drove his was home, and attempted to sing. 

When out on the driveway there arose such a clatter,
Neighbours sprang from their sofas to see what's the matter.
Away to their windows they flew like a flash,
Hoping to see the cause of the crash. 

Twas grey and rainy with no hint of snow,
The pavements were sparkling, the streetlights aglow,
When, what did their wondering eyes should appear,
A small Nissan Note, no longer in gear.
The massive driver was spread on the floor,
He’d tripped on the seatbelt whilst leaving the door, 

Erupting in laughter the neighbours were heard,
Whilst he picked himself up and said a rude word.
“Now Christmas, The Bublé, Now Dance 93!?,
Oh this really is stupid” he said seeing scattered cds, 

They’d all fallen out when he’d took his tumble,
So he gathered them up, with a mutter and grumble.
And then in a twinkling, he danced down the hall,
Prancing and singing “IT’S CHRISTMAS” he called. 

The cats ran for cover with a leap and a bound,
As he skipped past the kitchen and into the lounge.
Still dressed in his coat and a fleece hat,
he strode into the lounge and on the sofa he sat, 

A huge manic smile was spread on his face, 

He looked like looney, a real special case. 

His eyes how they twinkled, he was feeling so merry,
his cheeks were like roses and his nose like a cherry, 

His insane looking smile was drawn up like a bow,
Then he exclaimied “Oh, I wish it would snow”
“I'm having a cider” he yelled and lept up,
then dashed to kitchen, to grab a glass for a sup. 

He has a broad face and quite a big belly,
That shakes when he laughs, like a bowlful of jelly!
He’s chubby and plump, a right jolly old thing,
You’d smile if you see him, with the joy that he brings. 

With a sip more of cider and a twist of his head,
back to the lounge, from the kitchen he fled.
With a sping in his step, his whole family he hugged,
Whist trying not to spill, the drink that he chugged. 

He smiled ever so broadly then yelled with all might,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”