And so on this Christmas, far up in the sky You will see eight reindeer and a short, chubby guy. Mom's busy enough, She's off to the Pig for some last-minute stuff, Ham, stuffing, casseroles, plenty of eats, Recipes all from Charleston Receipts. So hot and humid you could wring out the air. On Christmas it'll pro'bly be 80 degrees. On Middleton, Rutledge, Huger and Prioleau, On Cooper, Legare, Simmons, Rivers and Beau, Like Japanese culture, we do think it's nice To worship our ancestors and ingest pounds of rice.
Kiddies run wild, cousins who flirt, And a truckload of others who're older than dirt.
Packed in our single house, mingle and merry, She-crab soup fueled with a dollop of sherry. Pass me the oysters, the grits and the shrimp. Benne seed wafers and Lord knows what else, Soon time to loosen a notch in our belts. They'll feed all their faces from hunger and thirst, Unless the Palmetto bugs beat 'em there first. With nary a peep from cell phone or pager.