Twas the night before Christmas when all through the garages Not a motorcycle was rumbling, except for Santa Claus' The leather was hung in the closet with care In hopes that nice weather, soon would be there Our bikes were all nestled snug in their cover With visions of blacktop and burning up rubber With me in my bandanna and Pop in his skull cap We had settled down for a long winter's nap When out on the lawn arose such a rumble I sprang from the bed as I started to grumble When what to my wondering eyes should appear Was a pack of motorcycles, with riders and gear With one old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be biker St. Nick He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his foot His clothes were all tarnished with bugs and road soot A bundle of chrome he had flung on his back Down the chimney he came, carrying a big red sack He spoke not a word but went straight to his work As he filled all the riding boots, then turned with a jerk, And laying a finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose He sprang to his motorcycle, to his team gave a sign As they cracked their throttles and got into line, Now Honda, Now Harley, Now Triumph, and Indian On Kawi, On Suzuki, On Yamaha, Venture and Victory, But I heard him exclaim as he roared out of sight Keep the rubber side down and have a good ride Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.