A few years ago, I adapted the lyrics to “Twas the Night before Christmas”. I hope you enjoy it!
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the stage
Not a strummer was strumming, not even Jimmy Page.
The electrics were hung by the roadies with care,
In hopes that Jimi Hendrix soon would be there.
Guitarists were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Fenders danced in their heads.
And Mamma with her Taylor, and I with my SG,
Had just cranked our amps for some jam session glee.
When out on the drive there arose such a clatter,
I turned down my amp to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But eight guitar gods drinking a beer.
With an old black singer, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Hendrix.
More rapid than eagles guitarists they came,
And he strummed, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Jimmy! Now, Clapton! Now, Nugent. and Stevie!
On, Eddie! On, Dimebag! On Mayer and B.B.!
To the top of the stage! To the top of the charts!
Now wail away! Wail away! Wail away all!”
So up to the porch the rockers they flew,
With a song full of riffs, and lead solos too.
Guitar gods were here, they started to jam.
It seems they were waiting, for one final man.
And then, in an instant, I heard on the stage
The humming and purring of each amp with age.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
To the stage Jimi Hendrix came with a bound.
He was dressed all in silk, from his head to his toes,
And his clothes were all colored with dark hues and yellows.
A big leather strap he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a gypsy, just opening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the ears, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger, aside of his axe,
He gave us sweet tunes, just to relax!
His eyes-how they twinkled! His voice how great!
He nailed all his solos, It was his fate!
The bod of his axe was as white as the snow.
He wore it so well, it appeared just to flow.
His tones how they sang with every swift bend.
I wished right now for this never to end.
A long night gone by, I sat and cheered
The concert was ending just as I feared.
He sprang to his feet, to play one last chord,
And away they all wailed, not a soul was bored.
But I heard him exclaim, as he wailed with great might,
“Rockin’ Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!
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