'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the place Not a creature was rumbling, 'cept of course my bass The stockings were hung by the old amp wih care, In hopes that St. mingus soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of warwicks danced in their heads; And jaco with his jazz and i with my "p" Had just plugged in to play x-mas songs in g When out on the lawn there arose such a thwap I sprang from the bed to see who was playing slap Away to the window I flew like a flash, i heard a man playing a phish song called "stash" The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of modullus to squire's below, When, what to my wondering ears should ring, But a miniature carvin, with eight tiny round strings With a jazzy old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it was a wooten named vic More rapid than eagles his 116th notes did play And they popped, and plucked, and called out by name "Now, marcus now, chambers now, burton and stu hamm! On, geddy lee on jamerson! come on guys lets jam To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now play the bass! play the bass! play the bass all!" guitarists that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with a bass note, all of them would die So up to the house-top the bassists thy flew With the sleigh full of pods, and a line 6 rack to And then, in a rumbling, I heard on the ceiling The prancing and pawing of each tone with feeling with an Ernie Ball in my hand, and was turning around, Down the chimney les claypool came with a pound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to medulla he was carrying a 6 string i think maybe a pedulla ; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like flea with a sock over his sack His frets -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His hardware like roses, his finish like a cherry! His droll little headstock was as long as an eel And the beard of his chin was black like otieal(and most of the other great bassists of all times) The butt of a stoge he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a bass with great belly, That shook, when he played it like a bowlful of jelly. pattitucci was there a right jolly old elf, i was humbled when I saw him, in spite of myself; A pluck of his e string and a twist of his d Soon gave me to know I had no reason to flee stan clarke played not a note, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of the neck And giving a nod, played some new song by beck they sprang to their van, to fly off tot eh next gig , And away they all flew leaving me a new rig But I heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight, "HAPPY BASS-MAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"