T'was the eve down in Georgia ...magnolias complete
When the cadence of reindeer with padded hoof beats
Came trodding over steeples brushing the spires
To harken old hearts and put out old fires
Replenish the joys of rebels with souls
Restore faith for kids with wishes to hold
There was double wide homes with metal roofs
Plantations so old with their history
aloof
The homes on the marshes with piers out to heck
Then those of the cabins with red wooden decks
All for the hoofbeats so sturdy this year
To hold the big Redman and his redneck reindeer
He came all a' laden with dump trucks and go-carts
The kind with a horn and a zillion small parts
New reel for Big Daddy and the George Forman fryer
Tammy Fay lashes and the Ronco hair dryers
It's pleasures for "the Woman" like a new set of nails
It's waxes for surfboards and new canvas sails
The bogging machines with "mutha's of thunder"
Koalas for newbies from the land way down under
Its jasmine and cranberries, pumpkin and egg nog
Its helmets "shoot fire" for that old Harley Hog
Hoofbeats a ring'n with bells all a jolly
Then yelps from the thorns in butts from the holly
Santa so red faced and all full of cheer
His six-pack of Miller with his red neck reindeer
They ride low sometimes to cover more ground
And most of the time they don't make a sound
Big bubba Santa ..a chaw in each cheek
"Junior" the elf... well he just can't be beat
His gig is this Christmas with little pay
He subs in off-season on St. Patricks' Day
He's knee high and green with ears out to here
He chews and he races at Darlington next year
He's proud and like Santa, ain't no other like it
Christmas is Dixie Sleighing or bike'n
Us folks down south... well... we're all just rotten
Know what they say? We're step'n in High Cotton
That means for you yankees of Northern Aggression
You listen on up.... we have a confession
Christmas in Dixie ain't Broadway in lights
It's down home cook'n and families "real tight"
It's warmth that is different and tradition on labels
Like Chatham Artillary Punch for our table
Like re-enactments at forts and mist from the canons
Like hoop skirted ladies... banana curls dangling
The men all dressed out in contradicted norm
Those all in gray in their Reb uniforms
Its pride in the south there ain't nothin like it
So get here real quick, fly'n or bike'n
You guys up north... You're the last ones to know
Santas a Rebel and he don't like the snow
His preference is eating with folks full of cheer
He's one of us and so is his deer
We share him each time this season comes round
He likes his direction all southern bound
We loan him to you guys ...he's always "on call"
It's jolly Reb Santa... Merry Christmas to y'all


Copyright: Susan Kathryn de Vegter