'Twas the night before Christmas,
 And not until Spring
 Would a motor be running,
 not even a Wing.
 
 The bikes are all sleeping,
 they're covered and warm,
 Batteries are tended,
 nylon covers their form.
 
 My Bros were all nestled down
 snug in their beds,
 While visions of new chrome
 danced in their heads.
 
 And I in my do-rag,
 bike jacket and boots
 Out shoveling snow,
 and dreaming of scoots.
 
 Then from the horizon
 there came such a clatter
 My shovel I dropped,
 what could be the matter?
 
 Away up the hill,
 I slogged through the snow
 Looked up at the sky;
 where'd all that noise go?
 
 Then a throb from the heavens,
 like straight pipes so hearty
 Gave Summers' good thoughts,
 a loud bikers' party.
 
 When, what to my wondering
 eyes should appear
 But a Hog Ultra Classic,
 Red trailer in rear!
 
 With a little old rider,
 so lively and quick,
 I knew in a moment
 it must be St. Nick.
 
 More rapid than a V-Rod
 his Ultra came on,
 And he whistled, and shouted,
 and sang out this song;
 
 "Now, Springer! Now, Dyna!
 On Ultra and Softail!
 Now Vulcan! Now Injun!
 On Victory and Triumph!
 
 To the top of the porch!
 to the top of the wall!
 Now RIDE away! RIDE away!
 RIDE away all!"
 
 As small bikes that
 from the semis do fly,
 When they meet with the air blast,
 mount to the sky,
 
 So up to the house-top
 that Ultra it flew
 With a trailer of goodies,
 and ole' St. Nick too
 
 And then, in a twinkling,
 I heard on the roof
 The rumble and thunder of pipes
 that gave proof.
 
 I ran in the house,
 boots thumping around,
 And in came St. Nick
 all bearded and round
 
 Dressed all in black leather,
 from do-rag to boot
 His chaps were all tarnished
 with road grime and soot;
 
 A T-bag of goodies
 he'd flung on his back
 And he looked like a peddler
 just opening his pack
 
 His shades -- how they twinkled!
 his do-rag how scary!
 With chains intertwined,
 through skulls that were cherry!
 
 His droll little mouth had done
 many a row,
 So the beard of his chin
 was as white as the snow.
 
 He spoke not a word,
 but went straight to my ride
 And fixed it with Chrome,
 Horsepower and Pride
 
 And giving the peace sign
 with bikers' good cheer
 Strode off to his Ultra
 rumbling near
 
 He sprang on the saddle,
 his gloves on the bars
 A wheelie he threw;
 then off towards the stars
 
 I heard him exclaim,
 as my chest swelled with pride,
 "MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL,
 AND TO ALL A SAFE RIDE!"