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T'was the night before mailorder


phunkyb

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'Twas the night before Mail Order, when all through the world

Not a Phishead was sleeping, not even Dis-co;

The credit cards were placed by the computer with care,

In hopes that PHISH tickets soon would be there;

Tossing and turning all over their beds,

While visions of Gumbo danced in their heads;

And Tela in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Could not settle lengthwise for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

tipped over the bong and threw out my Stash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of Oleander to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a jubilant Trey, with eight songs to play here!

Stroking his guitar, so lively and quick

I knew in a moment it must be St. Trey.

More rapid than eagles his songs came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, WILSON! now, FORBIN! now, CROSSEYED and PAINLESS!

On, HALEY’S COMET! on CARINI! on, BRIAN and ROBERT!

To the top of the mountain! to the top of the world!

Now play away! play away! Play away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the heavens the songs they flew,

With the guitar full of delay loops, with Page's key's too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in my head

The prancing and pawing of each little note.

As I drew in my pipe, and was turning around,

Down with Disease St. Trey came with a Mound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of keef he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his sack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as red as the rose;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a thin face and cute little glasses,

That shook, when he played, for all of the masses.

He was jumping here and there, his right jolly old self,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A Punch You In the Eye and a Twist and some ‘Dead,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And Played every note; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimmny the white stuff goes;

He sprang to the Stage, to his band gave a whistle,

And away PHISH played, the greatest rock and roll band EVER!!

And I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"HAPPY MAIL ORDER TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!!"

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