'Twas the eve of Christmas, throughout our castle
Everyone is sleeping, no man's a hassle
Our weapons neatly place high above our chairs
And a half-naked British drunk asleep on the stairs
Number eleven's snug, warm in his rose coloured thread
Three is passed out with hair curlers on top of his head
And I in my musical nightcap, and eight in a room agleam
Holding a plushie of thirteen and having steaming fiery dream
Outside my window I hear a loud shatter
I sprung off my sheets to investigate that unruly chatter
"You idiot." I hear one of them spoke.
"Make sure all sleep. No one should woke."
"Fine. Fine. You miserable kook.
I'll make sure you crashing doesn't give anyone the spook."
The patched one look up at the window up near.
I quickly try to hide myself. Making myself disappear.
He shake his head, and give a small shrug.
"Can you give me a hand?" The other applaud with smug.
"Your sense of humour's tasteless. It's a bunch of bull'
Help me get the presents out of the bag. It's hard
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