By Peggy Fisher

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Hut,
Not a creature was stirring not even Mr. Hommerding.

The guitars were hung in their cases with care,
In hopes that Christmas vacation soon would be there.

The Frantics were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of the Stones danced in their heads.

Mr. Schmidt in his kerchief, Mr. Giovannini in his cap,
Had just closed up and were ready to leave.

The moon on the breast of the new‑fallen snow
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below.

When out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
Mr. Mueller, Mr. Hommerding, Mr. Giovannini, and Mr. Schmidt
Sprang to the window to see what was the matter.

When what to their wondering eyes did appear in a shot,
But Ringo, Paul, John, and George boppin' around the parking lot!

Instead of the little ol' guy who came in a sleigh,
The four mods made their way in a new TR‑3.

The three on their strings and Ringo on his drums
Brought a special message to those who had come.

As they ran to their wheels to make for the exit,
We could hear them exclaim as they drove out of sight

"Merry Christmas to all and to
Mr. Giovannini, Mr. Hommerding, Mr. Mueller, and Mr. Schmidt ‑ good night.

‑ yeah, yeah, yeah!"