Twas the night before Christmas, and all round the pad, there was nada happenin`, and that`s nowhere, Dad. The stove was dressed out in that stocking routine, In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.
With our bellies all stuffed full of tacos and beer, Me and the bride hit the couch for some cheer. When out in the yard there arose such a racket, I ran for the door pulling on my old jacket.
I saw this old geezer on a `57 Pan, Wearin` boots and black leather, a real biker man. His eyes how they twinkled under eyebrows so thick, I knew right away that this dude was Saint Nick.
"`Scuse me, Brother," his voice how it rumbled down low, "Have you got some spare wrenches? My scooter won`t go." "I was flyin` along when she started to get hot, Then she sputtered and coughed, and died on the spot."
That bike was all covered with stuffed leather bags holding brightly wrapped presents with ribbons and tags. Saint Nick he was frantic, his face wore a frown. "The children are waiting. I can`t let them down."
I said, "Wheel it in, Man! We`ll get that Pan tickin` "We`ve got leftover tacos, if you don`t mind chicken." "If we can`t get it running in an hour or so, You can borrow MY bike -- just load it and go."
So we pushed it on in and unhitched the load, I could fix what was busted and he`d be back on the road. As I puzzled and muttered over that righteous ride, He scuffed on the doormat and went on inside.
He was back in a flash, tacos piled on a plate And a glass of skim milk that he sipped as he ate. "It started to clatter," he said round a bite, "It started to miss, then just quit outright"
"It`s just been rebuilt from the frame up this year, But I guess it`s a good thing that I broke down here. From the looks of the sleds that`re lined up out back, You`re a man with the skill to put me back on track."
"You`re good to go now," I said, wiping my hands, "It was a quick fix, you can get on with your plans. "A plug wire got snagged and pulled off, don`t you see, So when you get on, be careful where you put your knee."
We put the bags on and he zipped up his jacket, Then he kicked it to life with rumble - not racket. He settled his cap and said, "Say, would you mind -- If I road-test this pig to make sure that she`s fine?`
Flames shot from the pipes as he sped down the street, Then back by he came and that bike sounded sweet. He pulled up the bars on that Pan hung with sacks, And that bike hit the roof like it was running on tracks.
I couldn`t help staring as he shifted the tranny, But I had to go in -- I was freezing my fanny. When down through the chimney he fell with a crash, And out of the woodstove he came dragging his stash.
With a twinkling eye, he passed out the loot, A new jacket for her and some parts for my scoot. He patted her cheek and then shook my hand, Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.
From up on the roof came a great peal of thunder, As that mighty V-twin tore the silence asunder. As he roared into the night, he waved and he cried, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good ride."
i really enjoyed that
