Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the crevice
not a creature was stirring not even Darrelle Revis
The Christmas wish list was hung from woody's neck
In hope one day he would salvage the wreck
Rex Ryan was nestled quite snug in his bed
while visions of championships danced in his head
And Sanchez with a brace, and fur in his cap
had nestled down for a Christmas Nap
When out on the lawn their arose such a clatter
Rex sprang from his bed to see what was the matter
Away to the window he flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash
The moon shining down on the field right their
Rex allowed himself to say a small prayer
When what to his wondering eyes should appear
but the members of his team riding atop a reindeer
The driver of the sleigh so small but thick
he knew in a moment that it must be St Brick
More rapid than Clowney, his players they came
And he whistled, ans shouted, and called them by name
"Now Mangold! now, Woody, Now Leon!, and Dwight!
on, Kerry! on, Cotch, on Edwards!, and Wright!
Oh the defence, I love you a ton!
mark my words, a Championship will be won"
The walls of the old building, will crumble and die!
The new one's in place, and in it we'll fly
And on the rooftops stand Jones and Greene
terrorizing defences who release quite the scream
And then in a twinkling, with hands of glue
Edwards announced that he indeed had a clue
with his route running crisp without any flaw
he pleads with Sanchez to throw the ball some more
Darrelle was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot
A bundle of receivers, he had flung on his back
no receiving yards today, but maybe a sack
Rex's eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His belly rumbles, so full of delight
signing Leon he thought, I think we just might
David Harris so fierce, his voice so quiet
He offers some tips to help Rex on his diet
Scott makes the hits, he flys on the field
and Mangold makes up a big blonde shield
The seasons gone south, but not yet over
maybe we'll get lucky, and find a four leaf clover
We need to run, and control the trenches
and get some help from the well rested benches
They sprang to the sleigh, to their master gave a whistle
and away they all flew, like the down of a thistle
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"