T'was the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a critter was stirring 'cept the fleas on a mouse...
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
For who would have thought that a flea could get there.
Then out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
When, what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny fleas!
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a tick t'was ol' fleabag St. Nick.
More rabid than eagles his stingers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now, Scratcher! now, Stinger! now, Boing-er and Vexer!
On, Biter! On, Sucker! On, Itcher and Chewer!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now sting away! Sting away! Sting away all!"
As small fleas that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the insects they flew,
With the sleigh full of Fleas, and St. Nicholas too.
A bundle of Fleas he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned like a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Then flipping a bird, up the chimney he rose!
And then, in a twinkling, I felt on my chest
The prancing and boing-ing of each little pest.
As I scratched at my head, and was turning around,
Up the legs of my jammies they swarmed with a bound.
Santa sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all of ya buggery shite!"
***
