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For years my grandfather, Irwin Alton Simpson, recited this poem every Christmas Eve, usually after a few shots of whisky. I’m not sure of its origin or when and where he first heard it, but he was an advertising man in Manhattan and, later, the Ad Director for the St. Petersburg (FL) Times, so he knew a ton of bawdy jokes and dirty limericks. (This poem is pretty tame compared to some he knew.)
After he died, the torch was passed to my father, Richard Irwin Simpson, who did an equally fine job, as he was also an ad man. He still recites the poem, even if it’s sometimes over the phone. James Irwin Simpson, that’s me, will be the next torch bearer.
With much love on this Christmas Eve, I share with you all this poem.
‘Twas Christmas Eve in the prison and the warden was walking the halls
Shouting ‘Merry Christmas, prisoners!’ and the prisoners replied, ‘Balls!’
This made the warden quite angry and he swore by all the gods,
‘You shall have no Christmas pudding, you dirty lowdown dogs!’
Then up spoke one old prisoner with face as hard as brass,
‘Warden, you can take your Christmas pudding and shove it up your ass!’
I liked this poem, Jim. Also, not to rewrite it or anything, but if you took out the word “Warden” and replaced it with “Rudolph” I think it would work just as well, too.
Just a thought…
That is a great poem, Jim!
I also just read your bio and laughed out loud!
My husband thinks I’m crazy, cause I’m all by myself in here.
(But there may be other contributing factors at play here.)
Keep on carrying that torch, Jim. You’re doing a fine job.
Heh.
Balls.
Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring — not a creature but me.
[OK, someone else write the next line…]
We all hid our contraband inside of our hair,
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there.
I wrote on my Korean blog a version of ‘Twas the night before Christmas’ that was all relating to pop culture. A few K-bloggers have done the same, with some very funny results –
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through Korea,
The spicy Christmas dinner gave foreigners diarrhea’.
We also did versions of ‘I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus’ and my one started –
‘I saw my wife kissing G-Dragon, (a popular Korean singer)
in between the kimchi pots last night’
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring – not a creature but me
We all hid our contraband inside of our hair
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there
Christmas hour was nigh and I hoped none would spoil it
Or rat me out for the whisky I brewed in my toilet
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring – not a creature but me
We all hid our contraband inside of our hair
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there
Christmas hour was nigh and I hoped none would spoil it
Or rat me out for the whisky I brewed in my toilet
When out on the landing there arose such a din
The gates were thrown open and Santa flew in
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring – not a creature but me
We all hid our contraband inside of our hair
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there
Christmas hour was nigh and I hoped none would spoil it
Or rat me out for the whisky I brewed in my toilet
When out on the landing there arose such a din
The gates were thrown open and Santa flew in
The reindeer were drinking and Santa was spewing
It was clear to see that trouble was brewing
When all of a sudden there arose such noise
The inmates were restless, but boys will be boys
[Tag! someone else is IT.]
Brilliant! I love this poem.
Good job, Zara!
We need someone to do the next two lines of Greg’s and then mine!
(This one is a community effort.)
(Merry Christmas to all, from my home to yours, everyone.)
Good job, you too, David!
You folks on the other side of the globe keep writing when it looks like there’s nothing up.
It’s confusing!
See? Now Simon just appeared above me too.
Good job, Simon!
Thanks Irene!
We’re now up to this:
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in all Cell Block D,
Not a creature was stirring — not a creature, but me
We all hid our contraband inside of our hair
In the hope that the warden wouldn’t check there
Christmas hour was nigh and I hoped none would spoil it
Or rat me out for the whisky I brewed in my toilet
When out on the landing there arose such a din
The gates were thrown open and Santa flew in
The reindeer were drinking and Santa was spewing
It was clear to see that trouble was brewing
And all of a sudden there arose such noise
The inmates were restless, but boys will be boys
We all of us tugged on his red velvet cape,
And cried, “Santa Claus! Santa Claus! Help us escape!”
Perfect!
I remember this one. My dad always told it. I was just a young kid so it really tickled me.
I still think of it from time to time and get a warm smile.
Maybe it is a sales thing, my dad was an on the road salesman for boats.
My dad used to recite a similar poem…
Twas Christmas in the prison,
The convicts were all there,
Gathered ’round their Christmas turkey
That was on their bill of fare.
When all at once the warden strode in,
His voice rang down the halls,
“Merry Christmas all you convicts”,
The convicts shouted “Balls”.
This so enraged the warden
That he swore by all the gods,
“You shall not have your Christmas turkey,
You dirty bunch of slobs.”
Then one old convict rose and said,
His voice as clear as glass,
“Take your damn Christmas turkey
And shove it up your ass!”
My Dad gave a similar rendition, but kept it clean:
It was Christmas in the jailhouse,
the warden was passing out butts.
“Merry Christmas, boys”, he shouted.
And the boys said, “Aw nuts!”
The warden was very angry at this,
he said, he said like this,
“You’ll get no Christmas pudding
nor any Christmas cheer.”
Up spoke one bold prisoner,
with a voice as deep as brass,
“You can take your Christmas pudding
and eat it yourself!”**
** The funny part is not using a rhyming bad word, like the comic strip below.
See Aug 18,2018 Pickles: http://wpcomics.washingtonpost.com/client/wpc/wppic/2018/08/18/
My grandfather recited that poem to us every Christmas. We placed a copy in his casket when he passed. His version went:
Twas Christmas at the prison, and all the prisoners there,
Were eating Christmas dinner, of the scanty prison fare
When in walked the warden, and gazing ’round the halls,
Said “Good evening, merry prisoners!”
And the prisoners shouted “Balls!”
This made the warden angry, and he swore by all the gods,
“You shall have no Christmas pudding, you dirty drunken slobs!”
Up rose an ancient prisoner, with face as stern as brass, and said,
“You can take your Christmas pudding, and shove it up your ass!”
Although we don’t remember Grampy ever finishing the last sentence…
My father also an ad man recited something similar to this but it involved Christmas cocoa !
So did my grandfather but at the end end of the poem it went something like this…..when up stepped an ancient prisoner… with a face as bold as brass… you can take your stinking pudding….cause we really don’t deserve it…….
And boy did we howl….I’m nearly 70 now and it still gives me a good chuckle.
Nice to find that my memory was not just imagination.
But the version I heard had a different line:
….then up stepped a thirty-year convict
with his teeth as green as grass……
Maybe a bit too realistic!
Twas the night before commissary and all through the dorm
The internet like bees were beginning to swam
Moving om circles gathering in Bunches
Sharing your dreams and discussing their hunches
The excitement was evidenced all in their eyes
Reflections of cupcakes cookies and pies
I hope they have bread I hope they have cheese
I hope they have cold busters somebody sneezed
Bonehead’s got ketchup we’re having a spread
Is there Anything for me the old school said
I should have had money 2 weeks ago
But the last time I went the ladies said no
I looked in my locker and man was it there
So I prayed to the Lord that my money was there
That night it was quiet there was hardly a peep
But we knew in our hearts that no one was asleep
The sun came up and we sprang from our Beds
With visions of pastries dance In our heads
With our list in our hand and our ideas in our pocket
Down the hallways we bolted like volley of rockets
But something’s amiss something’s wrong up ahead
I see that there are beds where all empty instead
As the lady at the window said with Frown
It happened again boys the computers are down.
So this was a poem that my grandfather recied to his family on Christmas Eve. It was passed down by on my mother’s side and my father continued to read it on Christmas Eve to keep with the tradition. Our version was slightly different and more like this..
It was Christmas at the prison, all the convicts they were there.
Seated around the table, partaking in the prayer,
When suddenly the warden entered and swore by all his gods
You shall not have your pudding, you dirty bunches slobs,
Then up step the convict, his face is hard as glass.
We don’t want your pudding warden, you can shove it up your ass !