Twas the night before Christmas and all through the ship;
not a sound was heard from the stern to the tip.
F&B & Housekeeping had all gone below,
the crew bar was closed, there was nowhere to go.
The crew were all quiet in the beds where they lay,
hoping Christmas was a Panamanian Holiday.
The Dancers had washed all their stockings with care,
and three drunk Steiners were passed out on the Stairs.
Not a creature was stirring throughout the Ecstasy Nation,
except for two Italians trying to screw this Croation.
The waste had been separated into bins, Red, Yellow & Blue,
to be recycled later and served to the Crew.
The Dancers were all sleeping…we must assume,
sleeping in a bed, but not in their room.
The good Corporate Training girls were in their rooms just the same,
having already finished their midnight walk of shame.
The Pursers were getting their much deserved rest,
some slept in their rooms, some slept at the Information desk.
The band had finished the Musicians prayer they all say…
Oh Lord, don’t let us be drug tested today.
Our Carnival careers we know will go far,
as long as they don’t make us pee in a jar.
On such a holy night when Jesus was born,
Even the Casino staff had stopped watching porn
. But all at once we heard such a clatter,
We sprang out of our bunks to see what was the matter.
We all ran like crazy, but not to our muster station,
saying, screw the cones, were going to our final destinations.
He appeared like magic on Verandah Deck,
clear in a ghostly life raft, pulled by four reindeer.
On Dancer, on Prancer, On Cupid & Blitzen,
named after 3 vegas strippers and a Romanian Vixen.
His face was pale, his skin an eerie hue,
he wore an orange lifejacket and a green hat that said Crew.
Our blood ran cold as he spoke to us at last,
“I am the Ghost of Boat Drills Past”.
The place I come from let no man mock,
where contracts don’t end and there is no Dry Dock.
Every day is a sea day in the place that I dwell,
and there is no early window in this cruise from hell.
Doomed forever to repeat the ancient mariners rhyme,
“There will be a boat drill in about 5 minutes time”.
And doomed forever to carry with me,
These heavy chains in my shoes through Security.
Now there is one way in which this faith can be way layed,
If on this Christmas night a sacrifice is made.
If you don’t want to do Boat Drill forever until you are sick,
you must bring me a virgin Camp Carnival Chick.
Each Christmas I must report with regret,
After 10 years of looking we aint found one yet.
Then a brave shop girl stepped out from the Crew,
“I’m kind of a Virgin, will I do?”
Her butt was small, her breasts big and floppy,
The guy’s all thought she was one hot looking shoppie.
Her breasts were real and they shook like a bowl full of jelly,
too young for the some poeple, too old for R Kelly.
What do you mean kind of a virgin asked the ghost from the raft,
“I’m not a virgin forward, but I am a virgin aft”.
Said the spirit, “This curse is lifted, she will do just fine,
so I will leave you all, but not her behind”.
As we heard them say as they rode out of site,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.
But the last words he said filled us with horror,
Ha ha, you suckers all have port manning tomorrow.
A Poem by the talented Tony Stone
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