I had fun rewriting a famous Christmas poem called "Twas the night before Christmas". While my own rendition, perhaps lacks the good-natured charm and youthful spirit of the traditional Christmas and Santa Clause story, still in my own humble opinion it nevertheless captures my own conception of the magic and wonder of a modern day 21st century Christmas story. Warning There is a little bit of minor profanity. No F-bombs but a few B-bombs ... if there is such a thing.
Warning mild profanity and mature situations
Yo, check it. Night befo Chrismas and all through the hood,
not a homie was pimpin' 'tween Watkins and south 3rd.
The playahs was making they rounds like a punk,
jus' hopin' to bust one in some phat bitch's trunk.
Baby daddy was passed out in the back of his ride.
when he wake up he be so mad cuz it wrecked on one side.
Baby mama she dishin' that rock in tha kitchen.
It cracklin' and poppin' while all dem kids jus' be bitchin'.
They hungry as hell, so why she only cookin' rock?
They's a bidness to run, and she still on the clock!
"Damn!" mama think when she hear a noise at the front doh,
that thumpin' and a bangin' she know it be five-oh.
Well, that door it crash open, and outside it she can see
a blizzard of blue lights parked all around her tree.
They ain't festive, they ain't happy, not merry, not bright.
They workin' overtime through the whole Christmas night.
Well the sargeant he limps in, jus' a holdin onto his liver.
and he say he got her ass! and she goin up the river.
They search her crib faster than wetbacks snatch a dollah.
When they find that white kilo they really start to hollah!
"Hey, Stevo! Hey Donnie! Jus' lookie what I found!"
They was grinnin' and laughin' at a bust of near two pounds.
Five-oh waste no time takin' mama's sweet ass straight to jail.
They leave her wrackin her brain for who to call to make the bail.
Two hours later the wind blowing leaves all through the yard,
and Mama she watchin' through bars that's cold and hard.
She thinkin' 'bout who it was that must a dropped the dime,
and she plannin' epic payback once she done all her hard time.
And then it happen so fast she don't see it at all,
her baby daddy's hooptie come crashin' thru the wall.
Well mama ducked, and she dodged, as bricks went flying by.
Baby daddy was supah stupid, supah drunk, and supah high.
Baby daddy he representin'. He stylin' all in gold,
but driftin' all around him they's a cloud of shithouse mold.
He caughin' and a retchin' like to puke up his own lung,
snot, spit, and slobber was jus' a drippin' off his tongue.
His eyes—how they rollin' and he grinnin' like a freak!
His grill flashin' and winkin' as he cussin' up a streak!
He screamed at her "Come on bitch! We got to get outa dis place!"
But baby mama she so skeered of dat look that's on his face!
He backed out his hooptie that was smokin' and fetchin',
and steam boilin' out while the engine was catchin'.
With a scream of broke metal, he drive outa dem ruins,
so Mama she jumped in fo she knew what she was doin'.
Soon they's haulin' ass jus' as fast as you 'spect they might,
when 'hind them they can see a burning river of blue-light.
It aint lookin too good for mama and daddy on that day,
but they's still one more trick baby daddy gots left to play.
Daddy cussed not a bit, but went straight to the point,
he pulled out his lighter and he lit up a joint.
he tooked him a hit and he helt it in tight.
'till the panic had left him and he's feeling damn alright.
He swerved down a side rode, and on a wrecker up he went!
Dove out the hooptie and pulled a tarp over it like a tent.
Baby mama heard him whisper: "Bitch don't say a word!
We both still got Christmas bidness 'tween Watkins and south 3rd."
I stumbled across this: Macy's Black Santa, and thought to myself, you know self, there's a certain symmetry in the universe.