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T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Na’er a reveller was drinking, not even a Scouse,
The warnings from Liam, we’d listened with care,
In the hope that our children, the better would fare.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of polar bears danced in their heads,
The Climategate adverts that we thought were crap,
Our spirits, subliminally, were starting to snap.
And Mamma and I just longed for a fag,
That no-smoking lark was starting to drag.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
With trembling fingers, I opened a pack,
And drew out a Woodbine – the Hell with the flack.
With smoke curling upwards, the end all aglow,
I deeply inhaled, and gazed out at the snow.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Mamma sprang from her chair to see what’s t’matter,
And what to my rheumy old eyes should appear?
But a unit of PCSOs with smoke detection gear!
“Oi! You there Old Man, ‘tis smoke that I see”,
‘Tis forbidden by Order of the State Smoke Committee.
My Christmas was ruined! Imprisonment I feared,
When up popped my saviour, himself, Old Greybeard,
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
“Tis my smoke that you see”, he called to the crowd,
“The nightsky is my workplace, and so I’m allowed,
A drag on a fag and a drop of Sherry,
As I give to your world its one day of glee.”
He laid out our presents, and munched his mince pie,
Then took off with his sleigh in-to the night sky,
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove through the night,
“Happy Christmas to all, and keep those fags out of sight!”
Na’er a reveller was drinking, not even a Scouse,
The warnings from Liam, we’d listened with care,
In the hope that our children, the better would fare.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of polar bears danced in their heads,
The Climategate adverts that we thought were crap,
Our spirits, subliminally, were starting to snap.
And Mamma and I just longed for a fag,
That no-smoking lark was starting to drag.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
With trembling fingers, I opened a pack,
And drew out a Woodbine – the Hell with the flack.
With smoke curling upwards, the end all aglow,
I deeply inhaled, and gazed out at the snow.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Mamma sprang from her chair to see what’s t’matter,
And what to my rheumy old eyes should appear?
But a unit of PCSOs with smoke detection gear!
“Oi! You there Old Man, ‘tis smoke that I see”,
‘Tis forbidden by Order of the State Smoke Committee.
My Christmas was ruined! Imprisonment I feared,
When up popped my saviour, himself, Old Greybeard,
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
“Tis my smoke that you see”, he called to the crowd,
“The nightsky is my workplace, and so I’m allowed,
A drag on a fag and a drop of Sherry,
As I give to your world its one day of glee.”
He laid out our presents, and munched his mince pie,
Then took off with his sleigh in-to the night sky,
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove through the night,
“Happy Christmas to all, and keep those fags out of sight!”
