'Twas the night before Christmas, when at Rozay’s crib,
The fridge, it was empty, except for one rib.
The cabinets were dusty, not a thing was inside,
One look at the shelves, and Rozay, he cried.
The homeboys were nestled, passed out on the floor,
While underage women quietly snuck out the door.
And Weezy in his do-rag, and Ross in his fleece,
Had just settled down to order some Chinese.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Weezy sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Rozay grabbed his crowbar and got ready to fight,
He tore open the shutters and looked into the night.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the crackheads outside an illuminous glow.
When, what happened to appear in front of these fools?
But a pimped-out sleigh, and eight tiny pit bulls.
With a lustrous gold robe and sipping orange Fanta,
They knew in an instant that it was Black Santa.
More rapid than bullets, his pit bulls they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Damon! Now ,Tyrone! Now Tavia and Mookie!
On, Kiki! On, RiRi! On, Donté and Pookie!
To the top of the duplex! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
They started out slow because some had to pee,
And for a slight moment Damon tried to break free.
But finally, in sync, to the housetop they flew,
With the stolen electronics, and Black Santa, too.
And then, with a thud, just like a boss,
They heard on the rooftop the sound of the paws.
Then Weezy and Rozay, they both turned around,
Down the chimney Black Santa came with a bound.
He was dressed like a pimp, and wore many chains,
And his robe was all tarnished with chicken wing stains.
A bundle of stolen goods he flung on his back,
He looked like a dealer in need of some crack.
His eyes were so bloodshot! His grill looked brand new!
The smoke from his blunt masked the room when he blew.
His lips, they were chapped, despite licking them wet,
And the beard on his chin looked like a Chia pet.
The stump of a blunt he held tight in his grill,
Was about to run out, yet he remained chill.
He had a peanut head and a massive round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly!
He was ashy and plump, in need of some lotion,
He wheezed just like Rozay, after very little motion.
Yet he had some swagger, despite the slight limp,
And the cash in his hand was proof he was pimp.
He spoke not a word, but would grunt during work,
He filled all the tube socks, then turned with a twerk.
And laying his middle finger up in the sky,
Up the chimney he rose, without saying goodbye!
He jumped on his sleigh, admiring his dubs,
Then away they all flew to hit up the clubs.
But then he exclaimed, as they drove out of sight,
"Get your hustle on this Christmas, and roll those blunts tight!"