Twas April 19th, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The baggies were hid in the stashspots with care, In hopes that St. Cannabis soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of skank-weed danced in their heads; And mamma with a bongload, me taking a rip, We’d just settled down for a calm midnight trip, When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, I trudged from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, I lost my way, and I coughed from the hash. The THC to my brain had to go, It gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, When, what to my reefer-red eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, who was chewing a seed, I knew in a moment he was bringing us weed. As slow as a tortoise, his coursers they came, And he yawned, and squinted, and called them by name: “Now Resin! Now Visine! Now Ganja and Hash Pipe! On, Munchies! On, Cottons! On, Stoner and Stash Pipe! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now smoke away! Toke away! Toke away all!” As dry schwagg smoke before the wild hurricane flies, when it meets a bathroom fan, it mounts to the sky So up to the house-top the courses they flew, with the sleigh full of grass, and St. Cannabis, too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney St. Cannabis came with a bound. He was dressed all in hemp, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of grass he had flung on his back, and he looked like a user just sniffing a 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 stuck in a grin, And his beard had been burnt from the ash on his chin. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and moved without speed and he laughed like he’d just done a bowl full of weed. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. There was a wink in his eye, a fog in his head, And soon I could see, his hair was in dreads. He spoke not a word, he was giggly and high and he filled all the baggies, and he turned with a sigh. And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He fell into his sleigh, to his team gave a mumble, And away they all flew in a big, hazy rumble. But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight, “Happy 20th to all, and to all a good night!”