Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song A Visit from St. Nicholson, artist - Bob Rivers. Album song Twisted Christmas, in the genre
Date of issue: 19.10.1987
Record label: Critique
Song language: English
A Visit from St. Nicholson |
Twas' the fright before Christmas |
No one upset me |
With a big bowl of popcorn, watching TV |
I stretched, gave a yawn, settled back in my chair |
In hopes that St. Nicholson soon would be there |
The children were lying awake without sleep |
They’d seen all his movies; |
He gives them the creeps |
I’d cued up «Cuckoo's Nest» with my trusty remote |
To the part where he had all the nuts in the boat? |
When out in the yard, there arose such a noise |
I turned off the TV to see what it was |
And what to my wandering eyes should approach |
But the Los Angeles Lakers, and Pat Riley, their coach! |
The limo was racing, the team at its heels |
That’s when I saw him: the man at the wheel |
He ranted and cursed, and waved round his swizzel stick |
And I knew in a second it must be Jack Nick |
More rapid than the Celtics these Lakers they came |
He screamed like a mad man and called them by name: |
«Now Magic, now Worthy, now Scott, and Kareem |
On Cooper, on Rambis, and the rest of the team.» |
Down the chimney St. Nicholson came with a groan |
Then he brushed off the suit and said, «Honey, I’m home.» |
He was wearing a trench coat. |
With beer it was stained |
And his shirt was clawed to shreds by Shirley MacLlaine |
He had a fat face and a flabby beer belly |
From too many trips to the bar and the deli |
He said, «Its tough when an actor becomes fat and lazy |
I only get calls to play weirdo’s and crazies |
And middle-aged has-been's with washed up careers |
But I’ll fix them all and play Santa this year!» |
And with that, he buried his head in the sack and said |
«Lets see what you get from your old buddy Jack. |
A hatchet for Daddy…» |
He reared back his head |
«To scare all those little buggers upstairs in bed |
And a stiff drink for mommy in a nice tall glass |
She could really use something to kill that bug up her chimney» |
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his face, he threw all the stockings into |
the fireplace |
What could I do? |
What could I say? |
What would I wear on my feet Christmas day? |
I asked for a reason |
And turning his head |
He looked straight at me |
And here’s what he said: |
«Why? |
You wanna know why? |
Do you really wanna know why, pal? |
I’ll tell you why |
When you’re out Christmas shopping |
You know, doing your little «Christmas» things |
With all your little Christmas friends |
Spreadin all that Christmas cheer, with those stupid Christmas songs? |
Did you ever stop and think of pickin up a little something for old Jack? |
Did you ever stop to think of what Jack might like for Christmas? |
You know, Jack. |
From the movies. |
Up on the big screen |
Pourin his heart out, givin it everything he’s got |
Day in and day out, just tryin as hard as he can to bring a tiny little bit of |
sunshine into your miserable little humdrum lives? |
Did you ever think of good ole' Jack? |
For a second? |
NO! |
Not once! |
Maybe old Jack just wasn’t that good. |
Maybe I wasn’t good enough in the Postman |
Always Rings Twice |
Acting my guts out for you in that one |
Cuckoo’s Nest, the Shining, Witches of frickin Eastwick, Prizzi’s frickin Honor |
All for you, Pal. |
Just to brighten things up for you |
Not good enough though, is it? |
No, you want me to brighten up the Christmas season too? |
Isn’t that what you want, Pal? |
Okay, lets make things real bright around here |
What do you say we decorate the tree? |
String up these pretty lights here |
Oh, she’s looking brighter already |
What do you say we take this cute little angel and ram her on the top branch, |
huh? |
How about some gasoline for the whole thing? |
I mean, lets make her just as bright as she can be |
What do you say we light her up and chuck her through the old picture window |
here? |
No point in having a tree as bright as all that without giving the neighbors a |
chance to see, don’t you think? |
There, aren’t you glad ole' Jack stopped by?" |
The flames towered brightly in the cold, wintry sky |
As he made for his limo and bade his goodbye |
And an age may unfold air I fail to regret |
That visit from St. Nicholson, which I’d sooner forget |
But I swear by the goose bumps upon my skin |
That I’ll always remember that devilish grin |
And his voice, crying out as he faded from sight |
«Merry Christmas to all, and I hope I never see you again for as long as I live, |
for crying out loud!» |