Santa’s Big Gig
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the club
All amps were silent, not even a hum.
The straps were hung by the mic stands with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The patrons were silent sipping on eggnog,
While visions of Prestige Guitars danced in their thoughts.
And Betty with her Eclipse, and I with my Classic,
Had just signed up for the Christmas eve jamtastic.
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
I wafted the smoke and peered through the glass.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what should appear to my lucky stars,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight shiny Prestige Guitars.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Rock