When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
Dazed and confused, I woke up to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters just in time to see somebody stealing my stash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of low tide to the objects below.
When, what to my wandering eye should appear,
But the big kahuna himself, holding a large mug of beer.

A big, old charger, so gnarly and thick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More crazy than Laird, his coursers they came,
And he whistled and barked, and called them by name:

"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now Prancer! And you dirty old Vixen!
On, Comet! On Cupid! On Donder and Blitzen!
To the pit at Pipeline! To the Teahupoo wall!
Now surf away! Surf away! Surf away all!

Like salt spray adrift in the offshore winds they fly;
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up on the house-top the coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of new sleds and that jolly kahuna too.

And then, in a twinkling, I hear on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each slippered hoof.
As I wonder what the hell, and was sniffing around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed like a surfer, from his head to his toe,
And I knew in an instant, like Eddie, he'd go.
A crapload of gear he had slung on his back,
And he kind of looked like a bum, digging through his pack.

The stump of his pipe he held tight in his teeth,
I've seen him do it before, even over heaving dry reef.
He had a broad face and little round belly,
That jiggled when he giggled, like a bowlful of guava jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old guy,
And I laughed when I saw him, at risk of a black eye.
He squared me up, and with a nod of his head,
Soon gave me to know, he was a righteous old dread.

He spoke not a word, but got straight down to his thing,
And filled all the stockings with wax and a repair kit for that fresh ding.
Laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his ride, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like an eight-foot, pintail missile.
But I heard him exclaim, as he cruised out of sight,
"Happy surfing to all, and to all a good-night."