'Twas the night before Metalmas, when all through Burt’s Tiki
Not a creature was stirring, not even a zombie;
The steel toed boots were hung by the bar without care
In hopes that Satan soon would be there;
The kids were all passed out drunk in their threads,
While visions of pentagrams moshed in their heads;
My wife in her bullet belt, and I in my metal studded leather vest,
Had just settled down for a long brutal rest,
When out in the parking lot there arose such a blast beat,
I sprang from the pit to see what was the hell shook my seat.
Away to the window I jumped with my drum sticks,
I went back to the stage and grabbed the nearest kit.
The cold moon on the breast of the new-fallen ice
Gave the grimness of the time on my electronic device,
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a hearse, with demonic goats that made me drop my beer,
With a beastly old driver, so menacing and dreadful,
I knew in a moment it must be the devil.
More rapid than Slayer’s Reign in Blood his demons they came,
And he growled, and shrieked, and called them by name:
"Now, Danzig! now, Dio! now, Perversor and Venom!
On, Coroner! on Corpsegrinder! on, Demonaz and Blitzkrieg!
To the top of the stage! To hell you will fall!
Now slash away! Slash away! Slash away all!"
So up to the club-top the demonic goats they flew,
With the hearse full of weapons, and Satan too.
And then, a wizzing, I heard on the roof
The stomping and scratching of each evil hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the bar Satan came with a hell-hound.
He was dressed all in leather, from his horns to his boot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with blood and brute;
A bundle of knives he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a roadie just opening his pack.
His eyes – how black! His dimples how deep!
His cheeks were like rotted flesh, the sight made me weep!
His drooling fat mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as black as a crow;
The stump of a joint he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled like a black Christmas wreath;
He had a disturbed face and a huge round gut,
That shook, when he cackled, God what a nut!
He was ripe and reeking, a wrong pissed off old beast,
And I cowered when I saw him, while my fear increased;
A grimace on his face and a spin of his axe, a riff he did shred,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the boots; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his fingers in the sign of the devil,
And giving a head bang, out he went in a drizzle;
He sprang to his hearse, to his team of psycho’s gave a howl,
And away they all flew with a hoot and a growl.
But I heard him shout, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Metalmas to all, and to all a good-fight."