Twas the night before Christmas And lo it had snowed.
Though less than an inch covered the road.
“Blizzard!” cried some “Nor’easter” hollered more.
Even the mayor couldn’t get bread at the store.
The elves and their radar had re-routed old Santa with frost on the ground, could he land in ‘Bama?
My family was sleeping quite soundly, I say when fatso and company slap burnt his sleigh.
Out on the drive, I heard a great thud Saint Nick had crashed into an azalea shrub.
There wasn’t much snow but from the light of the moon, it was clear the elves should have used the pontoon.
So Santa was stranded what a grumpy old coot! No Tickle-Me Elmo just a dirty red suit.
The reindeer were scattered all over the joint uncle Mark said he figured Rudolf was 10 points.
The shock of the crash had befuddled old Santa! He thought the good children all lived in Atlanta.
I set him straight, Y’all not have feared I bribed him with cornbread which speckled his beard.
“Dang this is good,” He said with a chuckle and then took to gnawing the nearest pig knuckle.
I said to the elf that Andalusia is swell a great place to live, though hotter than the North Pole.
“I shouldn’t leave presents, this town is so blessed But I can’t help myself, Andalusia is the best!”
So this Christmas season, keep an eagle eye handy the Big Guy is coming and staying in Andy.