‘Twas the day before Christmas and Jack’s scratching fleas,
Grady was coughing and Goober just sneezed.
Their socks were all hanging outside on the line
The boys were both barefoot and starting to whine.
“This flu is so stinking.” “I’m ready to die.”
“My body is aching.” “My fever’s too high.”
“I’ve been sick forever.” “My feet are so cold.”
“Stuff in the fridge is all covered with mold.”
And then on the rooftop there rose such a clatter,
Pastor Jerguson fell. He’d been up on the ladder.
He tried to adjust their antenna with care.
But now he was hanging head down in air.
Goober rushed out with his PJs a flapping,
His feet nearly frozen, his heart palpitating.
He set up the ladder; the pastor was reached.
Now that he’s rescued, he’ll still get to preach.
But not without suffering the plague of the flu.
It seems Goober’s germs infested him, too.
He started to cough then switched to a sneeze,
He looked at his arm and flicked off a flea.
As he drove off from Grady’s and Goober’s he yelled,
“Merry Christmas you two; I’d better get well.”
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