'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not a bed-bug or louse. The mice were all settled with never a care, And the spiders they dozed on cobwebs everywhere.
The fleas were all nestled all snug on the cat, And under the tree snoozed a dirty great rat. A half-dozen ticks were attached to the dog, And a couple of rabbits snacked on the Yule Log.
The householder was dreaming and scratching his bites, And sneezed in his sleep, allergic to mites. A beetle or two scuttled off at the sound, And a small scouting ant called her whole family round.
Then Santa came down the chimney, all dusty, Into the wreckage and debris so musty. He wiped off the ash from his once-snowy beard, And into the verminous household he peered.
Come bed-bug! Come louse! Come blood-sucking gnat! Come flea! Here comes something tastes better than cat! And off of the carpet the fleas leapt ten feet, Up Santa's red trousers to join in the feast.
Santa he scratched, in discomfort he itched, Grabbed at his clothing and the cuffs upward hitched. His skin was all blotchy and covered in bites, For he was the present for the vermin that night.
The rats and the mice awoke at the commotion, And into their brains came a hunger-fuelled notion. For the presents were held in a bag of burlap, And soon they were gnawing to shreds Santa's sack.
Well that was enough for beleaguered Saint Nick, He grabbed armfuls of gifts and he left, double quick. The reindeer were scratching parasite-ridden pelts, From way down the chimney their blood had been smelt.
And hordes of the buggers, the fleas and the lice, Had infested the poor deer in only a trice. 'Well I guess it is Christmas for man and for mouse, And for all the damn vermin that live in that house.'
