"Twas The Night Before Christmas for Military On Guam" joke
Twas the night before Christmas from our boondock house.
You could not hear a gecko, a shrewd or a mouse.
The zories(flip flops) were hung on the louvers with care,
In hopes that Guamanian Nick soon would be there.
The children were nestled in their G. I. Beds,
While visions of base housing danced in their heads.
With Mom in her bermudas and I in my shorts,
Had just settled back for the typhoon reports.
When out on the reef there arose such a clatter,
That I climbed a palm tree to see what was the matter.
Away mom flew to the window just like a flash,
No shutter to open, and of course there's no sash.
But the moon on the crest of the white drifting sand,
Gave a luster of mid-day to this remote is--land.
A vision is approaching, Ah! I see it now.
Why it's a miniature cart and eight carabao.
With a little old rider so lively and quick,
That I knew in a glance it was Guamanian Nick.
More rapid than eagles his carabao came,
And he wistled and shouted and called them by name.
Now Guster, now Mufnas, now Jones and Guerraro,
On Perez, on Lujan, and Cruz and Parrero.
To the top of the cliff to the tip of the reef,
Old Nick drove his carabaos as the wind drives a leaf.
As dry coconuts that after a typhoon do fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So to the thatched roof, the carabaos flew.
With a cart full of toys and Nick's tuba(liquor) jug too.
When all of a sudden he really did goof,
That woozy old gent fell right through our roof.
But one blackened eye and a bump on the head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke in Chamorro and then went to work,
And filled all the zories then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod up the trellis he rose.
He was back in a flash all covered with dirt,
And the look on his face showed his feelings were hurt.
"Where in the world is your chimney?" he said to me.
I replied, "We have none, it is sure plain to see."
He staggered out the door which really was best,
But the Guamanian police put him under arrest.
But I heard him exclaim as they dragged him from sight,
"Merry Christmas to all - and to all a good night!"
Here we are on Guam.
Without a hope of snow.
But though the spreading palms.
A typhoon sure can blow.
Santa Clause will know,
What the tropics will allow.
Instead of riding eight reindeer,
He'll ride a carabao.
Chorus:
Ohh, more...