Print This Page#02712 Print This Page
'Twas the night of the trip and the weather was fair,
On the water not a ripple from Point Crewe to Saint Pierre;
With the fog thick as cobwebs, I felt for the shore,
The only sound to be heard was the swish of the north;
Then all of a sudden from out the night,
On a road by the shore flashed a mountie's red light.
Here it is Christmas Eve, Santa's on his way,
And I'm an ol' bootlegger boy, steamin' in the bay;
I got me a load of booze on board and I'm headin' into shore,
It's my second trip this week and I'm goin' back for more.
When Santa comes to our house I bet he's gonna laugh,
I'll put a drop of alky into his syrup glass;
He'll go, "Ho Ho, that I know," while sippin' on me drink,
He'll mix his alky three to one while standing by the sink.
What a bootlegger's Christmas it will be,
We got plenty of baccy, boy, packed beneath the tree;
We'll say they're gifts from relatives and fool the mounties,
We'll paint the empty alky jars and hang them on the tree.
I started fishing in the spring, didn't do much at all,
So I began bootleggin' tobacco and alcohol;
The bootleggin' business is boomin', boys, and the profits are so high,
I have a lot of things now I could never afford to buy.
My children play Nintendo games on their own TV,
They all got their Reeboks underneath the tree;
Mommy's got a microwave and dresses so galore,
I got a new three-wheeler and a Chevy four-by-four.
What a bootlegger's Christmas it will be,
We got plenty of baccy, boy, packed beneath the tree;
We'll say they're gifts from relatives and fool the mounties,
We'll paint the empty alky jars and hang them on the tree.
Our little boy is five years old, he's daddy's little man,
Mom took him out last summer, she pushed him in his pram;
He cried 'cause he wanted to walk, didn't like that pram at all,
But hidden by his teddy bear, two jars of alkyhol.
When the news spread around the telephones were tapped,
He said, "Dad, will I still get my boots and cowboy hat?"
I said, "Don't you worry, boy, I'm good at this trade,
I got me alky hidden, son, so don't you be afraid."
What a bootlegger's Christmas it will be,
We got plenty of baccy, boy, packed beneath the tree;
We'll say they're gifts from relatives and fool the mounties,
We'll paint the empty alky jars and hang them on the tree.
What a bootlegger's Christmas it will be.
