Twas the night before Christmas and all through Negril;
the dogs were all sleeping, the roosters were still.
Mom in her swim suit and I in my shorts,
we were just settling down with a drink on the porch
When suddenly the tin roof shook with a clatter
I leaped from the hammock to see what was the matter
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
A ladda bag of gifts, in a push cart; Oh Dear!
From under the bag emerged a big beard and long dreads,
a bigga with pipe, not Santa, but Rasta Claus instead.
He climbed in through a window and set right to work,
laying gifts of refreshments, ice cold, and hot jerk.
His red eyes did twinkle, as he climbed up the roof,
the presents were real; this was no spoof.
I heard him exclaim as his rode out of sight,
Sav is my next stop, to Negril a good night.
