Christmas In Mayberry
Christmas In Mayberry by Ben Sandifer
Many thanks to Allan for including the audio version of this poem on the Two Chairs No Waiting podcast (episode #114). I've had some requests for a written copy, so here goes. - Ben Sandifer GMS Productions in Macon, GA
And Merry Christmas to all fans of Mayberry!
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through Mayberry
This year's Santa would become legendary
A picture from Otis was hung up with care
By the one of the rose, which had won at the fair
The children had put up the last Christmas wreath
Opie and Mary Wiggins, who'd lost her front teeth
And Andy, with no gun, adorned his night cap
Just in case feuding families finally ended their scrap
When out on the street there came a great noise
Could it be Briscoe, Charlene and the Darling boys?
It probably wasn't that nut named Bass
It didn't sound one bit like shattering glass
No snow, just a steady rain fell from the sky
It had rained every day since those gypsies came by
When up came a black Ford automobile
With way yonder too much grease on the wheel
With a skinny little driver, who still had no wife
He was known by such names as "Fast Gun Fife"
His car barely made it, slowly moving along
A mechanic named Pyle told him all that was wrong
"Needs points, needs plugs, needs new wires, by gosh
And she could also use a really good wash."
To the Taylors driveway, he'd park right behind
Mr. Tucker's big car 'cause he'd changed his mind
He looked at the house and wished he could fly
Then a ladder next to the house caught his eagle eye
He'd climb up the ladder, yep, that was the plan
It was left there by Wheeler, Aunt Bee's handy man
He knew how to enter a room with such ease
He'd taught Ernest T. , with full amenities
But on this special night, the door would not do
So down the chimney the thin deputy flew
He was dressed in a uniform, what could be dumber
This night, I doubt he'd encounter Fred Plumber
His hair Floyd had slicked down, but not a bit drippy
In case fingers ran through from a fun girl named Skippy
His hat held his ticket book just in case
The governor's car was parked in the wrong place
The bullet in his pocket was shiny and neat
And if he should use it, watch out for your feet
When he sang, it just kind of made you sick
'Cause he just couldn't sing - not one single lick
Even an old-fashioned recitation didn't work
After all, you can't make a bird go "chirp, chirp"
He had not an ounce of fat which helped him hustle
He could eat all the cookies, since they all went to muscle
He had little time and might get in a pinch
Since a tightwad named Weaver might turn into the grinch
He spoke not a word, there was much work to do
He still had to call Juanita and say "toodle-ooo"
For Opie he left some shiny, new skates
And a guitar, the kind that Lydia Crosswaite hates
For Aunt Bee he left 24 canning jars
More kerosene cucumbers for out-of-state cars
He left his friend Andy a hat and a tie
He'd never wear either, but he still had to try
And when he had finished he went out the door
He'd saved enough time for just one thing more
To Thelma Lou's house he now had to go
For a pan of her fudge and that doctor show
He cranked up his car on the third or fourth try
On his cycle and side car he could better rely
But I heard him exclaim as he drove through the mud
"Merry Christmas to all, now, nip it in the bud."
