'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the stars
We were fine, we were... all... fine... Except for some wars;
The stockings were hung in my smuggling freighter,
In hopes that St. Boba would stop by here later;

The clients were nestled in quarters behind,
As delusions of grandeur would dance in their minds;
My first mate in fur, and I in my vest
Napped, eager for 17 thou from our guests,

When out on the hull
There arose such a buzz,
I checked out the sensors
To see what the deal was.

Picked up visual scanning
And I looked into space,
On the canopy pressing
The nose on my face.
 
 

Stars in the distance lightened
The Falcon in motion,
Making things brighter than
Big TIE explosions,

When, what to my wondering
Eyes looked upon,
But a ship elephantine,
And eight tiny tauntauns,
 
 
 

With a masked, armored pilot, if I were to bet,
I would in a flash have said it was Fett.
More rapid than cruisers, his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Saber! now, Speeder! now Rocket, and Laser!
On Blaster! on Bomber! on Cannon, and Racer!
To the top of the Falcon! to ship's quadrant rear!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away near!"

As mynocks who onto your starship will hug,
Whenever you're inside a giant space slug,
So on to the Falcon the tauntauns they flew,
With a ship full of gifts, and St. Bobafett too.

And then on the hull did those beasts walk about
(The smell on their inside is worse than their out).
As I snuck out the cockpit and crept through the lounge,
In the exhaust port Fett came with a bound.

Along with his armor were red velvet cloaks,
A cap, and two gloves (all were blackened by smoke);
A bundle of gadgets he'd flung on his back
With care, lest he set off his touchy jet pack.

His mask -- it was weathered! His sleeves were all torn!
His pants were all shredded, his boots were all worn!
This hunter of bounties deserved to be jeered,
But let one who gives gifts and good cheer be revered.

He downed the blue milk
And wolfed all the cookies
That were set there for him
By myself and the Wookiee,

He sure loved desserts,
Since he sported a gut
That shook when he mumbled,
Like certain vile Hutts.
 
 
 

He snuck clumsily,
Without right jolly old guile,
So I grinned a wry grin
(In true Harrison style);

His salute to me when
In his sight I was caught,
Soon gave me to know
'Twas not bounty he sought;

He murmured a little, that guy so laconic,
While filling the stockings with gifts electronic.
A finger he laid by his trademark mask "T,"
A nod he then gave, out the top hatch he fleed;

Towards the stars he then flew, but without his own ship;
His jet pack had fired! The Unlucky One tripped!
Then he cried out, while sounding like somebody's Ma:
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-- AAAAAAAHHH!!!"
 

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