Night Before Christmas in Poland
'Twas the night before Christmas in my Polish house
I creep down the stairs just as quiet as a mouse.
Da rest of my family, they are asleep,
With visions of mushrooms thru their heads creep.
Da work shoes are hung by da chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Stasz will soon fill them there.
While over in the corner is silly to see,
Kielbasa and cabbages hanging from the tree.
Then there's this big bang and the house starts to shudder,
Some nut lands on da roof and breaks da rain gutter.
He starts down da chimney, swears cause it's tight,
I hide behind beer cases, way out of sight.
He lands in the fireplace, scorching his hair,
On the busted up orange crate burning there.
He climbs out - I peak - and get a big look,
He's just like da picture in my Polish book.
He's got vodka glazed eyes and stomach like a bubble,
A five day beard, there's soot on the stubble.
And he's lost all da buttons of his old mackinaw,
And he wears the biggest tennis shoes I ever saw.
This Polish Santa; I know without fear,
'Cause he heads for da kitchen and opens a beer.
When he finished a six pack, he gave a big smirk,
Reaches in a potato sack and goes to work.
Now under da tree he starts to set,
Da most beautiful presents a Pollack can get.
There's a new mushroom basket and a shovel for brother,
A bright red bubushka and a pick axe for mother.
I must see him leave, so I rushes outside,
And looks up da roof while in bushes I hide.
And what do I see thru da twigs,
But his old wooden garbage cart pulled by eight pigs.
Polish Sants jumps in and gives them all hell,
"Come on youse pigs, don't just stand there and smell.
On Stella, on Walter, on Stanley, and Joe,
And all youse others, whose names I don't know.
Fly over da junk yard and over to da right,
Let's visit all peoples before I get tight."
Then I hear him say as he flew over me,
"I'm the only Pollack that gives things for free."
