| T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the kitchen
Chefs scurried about while groaning and bitchin’.
The sauces were simmering and seasoned with care,
Because soon the reveling hordes all would be there.
The tables were set, and not a moment too soon;
Both waiters and hosts looked ready to swoon.
Will we ever be ready? It’s so hard to tell;
Our chances are as good as a snowball in hell.
The pressure was on. The geese were a-roasting,
As partiers began all their holiday toasting.
With bags full of presents, dressed in festive apparel.
Our guests made such a racket that drowned out the carols.
In the kitchen waiters shouted, while cooks swore through their teeth.
The scene was pure bedlam, not a moment of peace.
The chef, he bellowed, to the cooks on the line,
“Move your derrières, make those plates look sublime.”
“I want everything hot, let us make haste,
Move onward you cooks, there’s no time to waste.”
The chef looked about, then said with a shrug,
“To all a good supper and a hearty bah humbug!”
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