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Da nights bepor Christmas
An all tru da house
Nating pas
Not eben a mouse.

Da children dey nossie
all snog on da ploor
An Mama puts newspepper
Tru da crack on da dor.

Den Mama in da stobe
Roost up da manuk
Steer up da adobo
An make bake da biko.

Den out on da rud
Dey got such a clatter
Soun like old manong
Pull down da ladder.

I run so past
To open da dor
I trip ober da dog
An pull down on da ploor!

As I look out da dor
In da light ob da moon
I thinking “apo, you cresy
I’m gitting old too soon.”

Becus dere on da rud
Wer I turn my head
Dere’s eight carabao
Pulling a sled
An a little driber
Wit a big ishtick
I know right away
must be St Nick.

Mob paster an paster
Da carabao dey come
He wistle an holler
An call dem by nim:
“Oy, Boogy!
Oy, Ninoy!
Oy, Dong!, an’ Bebe!
Ay, Inday!
Ay, Melda!
Cory, an Maria!”

To da top ob da porch
To da top ob da wall
Crawl da carabao
An dey neber pull.

Uncle Onsing’s pighting chicken
Ober da rooptop he ply
Wen da big dog
He running by

Up to da porch
Da carabao he clim!
Wit da sled pull of toys
An St Nicklas behin.

Den on top of da porch roop
It soun like hell
Wer all dem carabaos
Sit down on der till.

Den down da chimney
I yill por long time
As St Nicolas pull down
An sit on de pire

“Jesus-Maria-Sep!”, he exclim
“My pant hab a hole
Wen I sit down
On da rid hot coal,”
An jump like a cat
out to da ploor
Where he lan wit a splot!

He was dress in pur
Prom his head to his poot
An his clothes dey all dirty
Wit ashes an soot
A sock pull ob playting
He trow on his back
He look like a boorglar
An dats por a pahct.
His eyes how dey shine
His dimple, how mirrey!
Mebe he alredy drink
Da wine prom da birry.
His chik was like a rose
His nose like a chirry
On secon tought mebe
He drink up da shirry.

Wit snu-white chin wisker
An quibering billy
He shik wen he lop
Like da strubirry jelly!

But a wink in his eye
An a shake ob his hid
Mik my compidence dot
I no nid to be skirred.

He don’ talk
He juss go to his woork
Put playting in sock.

An den he turn wit a jerk
He put bot his han
On top ob his hid
An look up da chimney

An den he said
“Wit all dat pire
An dat burning hot plim
I no go back
De sim way I kim.”

So he run out da door
An he clim up da roop
He is no pool
Por to make one more goop.

He jump to his slid
An crock his big wip
Da carabaos mob down
An don mik one slip

An I hir him shout loud
Wit da carabaos he ply
“Mirry Christmas to all!
An to all a goodbye!”

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