Twas the night before Xmas, when all through the house
Not a Meth-head was stirring, not even a tweaker named mouse.
The glass pipes were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Heisenberg soon would be there.
Jessy was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Jane danced in his head.
And Combo in his 'kerchief, and Badger in his cap,
Had long ran out of crystal and decided on long Xanax's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Jessy sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the bathroom he flew like a flash,
Tore open his secret cubby to quickly flush his stash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to a wondering eyes should appear,
But a Fleetwood Bounder with a man standing quite near.
He looked rather sickly, not very lively or quick,
We knew in a moment it must be Walter and his meth cooking kit.
More rapid than eagles his enemies they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
(I ran out of easily convertible verses)