T'was the night before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the West
Not a top-drive was stirring, and no pumps beat their chest;
The tools were all hung in the derrick with care,
In hopes that more work would soon be there;

 

The day-shift were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of spinning chains danced in their heads;
The DD’s in Nomex, and me in my shack,
Had just settled down for a wiper trip nap,

 

When out on the lease there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the blinds, and pulled up the sash.

 

The rig lights on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to tongs down below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Polaris side-by-side, pulled by eight tiny deer,

 

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than Medics his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

 

“Now, JORDAN! now, MICHAEL! now, SEAN and KEVIN!
On, CHRISTOPHER! on JASON! on, STEPHEN and DEVON!
To the top of the doghouse! to the top of the tanks!
Now dash a bit faster, up over the banks!”

 

As dry barite that before the wild windstorm did fly,
When met with the pipe racks, mount to the sky,
So up to the crown the coursers they flew,
With a Ranger of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on my shack
The prancing and pawing of of hooves with a clack.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Through the escape door, St. Nicholas came with a bound.

 

Dressed in PPE red, from his head to his foot,
And his Dunlops all tarnished with invert and soot;
A bundle of joy he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a bit salesman, opening his pack.

 

His eyes — how they twinkled! and his smile how merry!
His glasses, quite safety, his hard hat like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

 

The stump of a vape he held tight in his teeth,
And the bubblegum fog round his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little beer belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

 

He was chubby and plump, a and quite full of himself,
Like a drill supervisor, I thought to myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon hinted that he had some hope to spread;

 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled all drawers and lockers; then turned with a twist,
And sped through the rig like a steam hoses mist,
And giving a nod, out the V-door he went;

 

He sprang to his Ranger, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a pipeline pig missile.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

 

“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!“

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