Unfortunately, I don't know to which clever writer this piece should be attributed.
I first encountered it in a marvelous compendium of clever wordplay by Willard Espy, An Almanac of Words at Play. Of course, Mr. Espy had attributed the piece, but the books were loaners, they're out of print and hard to come by... I have a copy of The Best of An Almanac of Words at Play, published about eight years ago, and given to me by Polly Friedlander, the president of the Willard Espy Foundation. Not bad, eh? But many of my favorites were omitted, including this brilliant bit.
I found it on the internet, but without attribution. and here it is, on the internet again.
Still without attribution. I intend to correct that.
Twas the night before Christmas, An' all t'ru de house,
Dey don't a t'ing pass, Not even a mouse.
De chirren been nezzle, Good snug on de flo'
An' Mamm pass de pepper, T'ru de crack on de do'.
Den Mama in de fireplace, Done roas' up de ham,
Stir up de gumbo, An' make bake de yam.
Den out on de bayou, Dey got such a clatter,
Make soun' like Boudreau, Done fall off his ladder.
I run like a rabbit, To git to de do',
Trip over de dorg, An' fall on de flo'.
As I look out de do', In de light o' de moon,
I t'ink "Manh, you crazy, Or got ol' much too soon."
Cuz dere on de bayou, W'en I stretch ma' neck stiff,
Why dere's eight alligator, jus’ a-pullin' de skiff.
An' a little fat drover, Wit' a long pol'n stick,
I know r'at away, Got to be ole St. Nick
Mo' fas'er and fas'er, De 'gator dey came.
He whistle an' holler, An' call dem by name:
"Ha, Gaston! Ha, Tiboy! Ha, Pierre an' Alcee,
Gee, Ninette! Gee Suzette! Celeste and Renee!"
"To de top o' de porch, To de top o' de wall,
Make crawl, alligator, An' be sho' you don' fall.”
Like Tante Flo's cat, T'ru de treetop he fly,
W'en de big ol' houn' dorg, Come a run hisse'f by,
Like dat up de porch, Dem ole 'gator dey climb!
Wit' de skiff fill o' toy, An' St. Nicklus behin'.
Den on top de porch roof, It soun' like de hail,
W'en all dem big 'gator, Done sot down dey tail.
Den down de chimney, He fell wit' a bam.
An' St. Nicklus fall, An' sit on de yam.
"Sacre!" he axclaim, "Ma pant got a hole,
I done sot ma'se'f, On dem red hot coal.
"He got on his foots, An' jump like a cat,
Out to de flo', Where he Lan' wit' a SPLAT!
He was dress in musk-rat, From his head to his foot,
An' his clothes is all dirty, Wit' ashes an' soot.
A sack full o' playt'ing, He t'row on his back,
He look like a burglar, An' dass fo' a fack.
His eyes how dey shine, His dimple how merry!
Maybe he been drink, De wine from blackberry.
His cheek was like a rose, His nose like a cherry,
On secon' t'ought maybe, He lap up de sherry.
Wit' snow-white chin whisker, An' quiverin' belly,
He shook w'en he laugh, Like de stomberry jelly!
But a wink in his eye, An' a shook o' his head,
Make my confidence dat, I don' got to be scared.
He don' do no talkin', Gone straight to his work,
Put playt'ing in sock, An' den turn wit' a jerk.
He put bot' his han', Dere on top o' his head,
Cas' an eye on de chimney, An' den he done said:
"Wit' all o' dat fire, An' dem burnin' hot flame.
Me I ain' goin' back, By de way dat l came.
"So he run out de do', An' he clim' to de roof.
He am' no fool, him, For to make one more goof.
He jump in his skiff, An' crack his big whip.
De 'gator move down, An' don' make one slip.
An' I hear him shout loud, As a splashin' he go,
"Merry Christmas to all, 'Till I saw you some mo'!"