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|Page 1 of 1||Total of 2 messages|
|Posted by:||Dec 9th 2002, 09:07:12 pm|
|Christopher Johnson||Twas de night before Christmas, when all tru dehouse,
all de fellers was tinkin 'bout puddin an' souse.
De flippers were all hung by de sideboard wid care,
in hopes that tomorrow, there'd be sweet 'erbs to share.
De chil'ren were ball-up all tight in their beds,
while visions of Conch fritters danced in their heads.
You cud smell de sweet bread in de oven from far,
and I had just crack a fresh bottle of Kalik (Gold Star ).
When out in de chicken coop there arose such a clatter.
I jump up from my boongy to see wha de ram-bam was de matter.
Away to the window I flew like a ninja Tarzan
equip wid 2 big salt breads, holdin in my hand.
The moon on de ( defunked ) fig tree looked so lovely an'bright,
but it suddenly occured to me that I was tired as shite.
When, what with my malicious eyes do I see?
Wuh loss! A big musty santa-pee (ie.centepede), right by my feet!
Bring de cutlass goah-blemmuh! Dis ting gine bite me!
And de nex ting I look, it was up by my knee.
More rapid than Elvis dis ting start to climb,
if I had some Baygon, I knew I'd be fine.
The brow of my forehead was starting to sweat,
But wait! I hadda idea...I wasn't done for yet.
So I grabble piece a board and give it a chop,
Wax! Puhlax! Bruggadung! Brax! I would not stop.
You shudda see de ting denn, it tek so much licks...
It was now all over the floor, like corn beef on Crix.
But Beryll was 'busing as bad as could be,
'bout how I dirty up de floor wid dead santa-pee.
Ah tell she doan worry and ah tell she don fret,
bout that foolish old gal like she ain hear ma Ruby yet.
She keep making bare noise and giving backchat,
so I chop she wid a salt bread, and dat was de end ah dat.
HSBC Securities (Asia) Limited
1 Queen's Road Central, Hong Kong
|Posted by:||Dec 9th 2002, 04:52:35 pm|
|Fig Tree News Team||
'Twas a Briland Christmas and all down the beach,
Pink sand stretched as far as it could reach.
The flippers were hung on the balcony with care,
In the hopes that Santa would soon drift there.
The locals were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of guava duff danced in their heads.
Bahama Mama in her pareo and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long tropical nap.
When out in the night there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my hammock to see what was the matter.
Away to the screen door I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains and let out a gasp.
The moon on the water, how it did glow,
Giving a luster of midday to the palm trees below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sailboat ever so near.
With a little old captain so lively and quick,
I thought for a moment, "Could it be St. Nick?"
More rapid than the waves, the dolphins they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
"Now Flipper, now Moby, now Sebastian and Willy,
On Flounder, on Orca, on Jaws and Charlie --
From the edge of the reef to our port of call,
Now swim away, swim away, swim away all!"
And then in a twinkling I heard on the beach,
The chirping and chattering and splashing of each.
As I redrew the curtains and was turning around,
Through the front door St. Nicholas came with a bound.
Dressed in his trunks with a Kalik in his hand,
His feet were all covered with snow-like pink sand.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a tourist just opening his pack.
His eyes - how they twinkle, his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were sunburned, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth cracked a big smile,
The goatee on his chin, showed he could be kinda wild.
The snorkel he held tight in his teeth,
The mask it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a red face and a sunburned belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
With trunks and a daiquiri, a strange old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A flash of the peace sign and a nod of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the flippers, then turned with a jerk.
Now laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, out the door he goes.
He sprang to his yacht, to his team gave a call,
And away they swam past Man Island and all.
But I heard him exclaim as he traveled out of sight,
"Christmas in Briland … that's doin' it right!"
With heartfelt thanks to the authors of the original version [that the Briland Modem Team has since personalized to suit the Harbour Island and Eleuthera region] written by Nick Campbell, Debby Midwood and Texas Bob at e-mail Midwood@gte.net
us online at