Poncey Claus Santacrawl 2003
Twas the night before Pearl Harbor Day and all through Atlanta,
Dozens of drunks gathered, they were dressed like Santa.
They gathered at The Local, a bar that’s well-known
For its beer and its booze and its Malkovich clone.
The Santas were all nestled up close to the bar,
They came by foot, by bike and by car.
From all over they came-- from Buckhead, the Highlands, the School of Hard Knocks.
The hipsters, the misfits, even a Charlie-in-the-Box.
More rapid than eagles, the buzzes they came
And I whistled and shouted and called them by name.
“On DrunkenSanta, on LawyerSanta, on Santa Gesture Steve,
on PonySanta, on KiwiSanta, make sure you don’t heave.”
Their eyes how they twinkled, their dimples how merry,
and do my eyes deceive? We’ve got a Hanukkah Harry!
They walked up and down Ponce, spreading Christmas cheer.
They downed every shot, they downed every beer.
The Righteous Room and Neighbors, even the Dark Horse.
Atkins Park, The Hand in Hand and the Clermont, of course.
So come join the Poncey Claus Crawl, on the sixth of December
We start at the Local, 8 pm’s the time to remember,
And I heard him exclaim, as he stood head askance,
“Merry Christmas to all! Now where the hell’s my pants?”
