The Night Before Christmas in Coney
T'was the night before Christmas, when all through Coney,
Not a creature was stirring, not even Luther's cronies;
The switchblades were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that no rivals soon would be there;
The Warriors were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of alcohol danced in their heads;
And Mercy in her tight top, with Swan flailing about,
They stumbled into bed, and quickly passed out;
The alcohol bottle fell to the floor,
Rolling on the hardwood and stopping by the drawer;
When out in the alley arose such a clatter,
Swan sprang from his bed to see what was the matter;
He fell to the floor because of the booze,
And upon his leg there spread a painful looking bruise;
He screamed, "Dammit hobos, if it's you again,"
"I'll drag you inside and beat you with a chain!";
Away to the window he stumbled in a haze,
He threw open the curtains and outside he gazed;
The streetlights shining down onto the streets,
The lights that had overseen wins and defeats;
Poured sodium lighting onto the ground below,
The yellow haze illuminating an odd looking fellow;
His suit was red and his hat like a cone,
White fur lining all of it from head to toe;
On first glance one would figure it was Santa Claus,
But Swan knew better, and picked out the flaws;
His chest was stained dark by booze-addled drool,
And he was mumbling much like a fool;
He could barely stand straight and nearly fell over,
And he was holding a bottle of whiskey moreover;
Swan slapped his forehead and grabbed his pipe,
Of all possible clubs, it was his favourite type;
He headed downstairs and walked out the back door,
Ignoring the propositions of the elf costume-clad whores;
He yanked open the gate and then stumbled out,
Looked at the faux Santa and gave a mighty shout;
"You dumb hobo moron, I'll crack open your head,"
"You're disturbing my Christmas, and for that you'll be dead!";
And with that he gave the pipe a big mighty swing,
But ricocheted off a lamp post with an ear-shaking ring;
Booze and fighting don't go well together,
And Swan made a note not to do it again, ever;
The drunk raised his arms and tried to say words,
But he couldn't be understood as his speech was too slurred;
The drunk reached to his face and pulled off the beard,
And beneath a familiar face did appear;
Ajax stared out from under the hat,
Then he puked again with a loud splat;
Swan gave out a sigh, then slapped his head,
Wishing for god to strike Ajax dead;
But, alas, it was not to be,
And he had to ask Ajax for the whole story;
"Well," said Ajax, leaning on the wall,
"I decided to get some money by being a Santa at the mall";
"Today was my last day, so I celebrated";
"By going out and getting inebriated";
"I found myself nearby and figured, what the hey",
"I'll wish Swan a merry Christmas before it's even the day";
"I guess I had a bit too much to drink",
"Because even right now it's a bit hard to think";
"But now I'm gonna go and find me some tail",
"Then get picked up by the pigs and spend the night in jail";
Swan chuckled, thinking "That's my Ajax",
And said, "Alright, go out and pick yourself up some snacks";
"I think you know what I mean by that",
He said with a look, and a nice hearty laugh;
Swan went back inside and stumbled into bed,
And on the way down he did crack his head;
He didn't feel it because of the booze,
But the next morning he could barely move;
And as for Ajax, well, as can be expected,
He drank enough booze to be much worse affected;
He stumbled down the alley, and without any warning,
Tripped over a garbage can and lay there 'till morning;
But before passed out, he got up with a fight,
And called, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
