He was rolling river and lucky sun And a laugh like a double-barrelled gun, And the chip-straw hat on his round, bald head Was full of money and gingerbread. “Come in, Christmas, and have a cheer! But, if he’s comin’, he won’t stop here, He likes folks cheerful and dinners smokin’ And famblies shootin’ off caps and jokin’, But he won’t find nothin’ on dis plantation, But a lot of grievin’ conversation.