How the Thrush Stole Christmas
Every Spy down in U.N.C.L.E. liked Christmas a lot.
But the Thrush who lived north of Manhattan, did not.
The Thrush hated Christmas. The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his satrapy wasn't just right.
It could be his holster was cinched up too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his weapon was really too small.
But whatever the reason, his job or his size,
He stared down on Christmas Eve, hating those Spies.
Staring down from his flat with a sour Thrushie frown
At the warm lighted window below in the town.
For he knew every Spy down in U.N.C.L.E. beneath
Was busy now hanging up bugged Christmas wreaths.
"And they're cleaning their Walthers," he said with a sneer.
"Tomorrow is Christmas. It's practically here!"
Then he growled, with his Thrush fingers nervously drumming,
"I must find some way to stop Christmas from coming!"
For, tomorrow, he knew
All the Spy girls and boys
Would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!
Then the Spies, young and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they'd feast! And they'd feast!
And they'd FEAST!
FEAST!
FEAST!
FEAST!
They would feast on Pogue pudding and rare Spy-roast-beast
Which was something the Thrush couldn't stand in the least!
And THEN
They'd do something
He liked least of all!
Every Spy down in U.N.C.L.E., the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, communicators ringing.
They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Spies would start singing!
They'd sing! And they'd sing!
AND they'd SING! SING! SING! SING!
And the more the Thrush thought of this Spy-Christmas-Sing,
The more the Thrush thought, "I must stop this whole thing!
Why for twenty-three years, I've put up with it now!
I MUST stop this Christmas from coming!
...But HOW?"
Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE THRUSH
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
"I know just what to do!" The Thrush laughed in his throat.
And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Thrushie trick!
With this coat and this hat, I look just like Saint Nick!"
"All I need is a reindeer..."
The Thrush looked around.
But, since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old Thrush...?
No! The Thrush simply said,
"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead."
So he called Minion Max. Then he took some red thread.
And he tied a big horn on the top of his head.
THEN
He loaded some bags
And some old empty sacks
On a ramshackle sleigh
And he hitched Minion Max.
Then the Thrush said, "Giddap!"
And the sleigh started down
Toward the place where the Spies
Lay a-snooze in their town.
All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the Spies were all dreaming sweet dreams without care.
When he came to Del Floria's first on the square.
"This is stop number one," the old Thrushie Thrush hissed.
And he climbed to the roof cause he really was pissed.
Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight crush.
But, if Santa could do it, then so could the Thrush.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue.
Where the little Spy stockings all hung in a row.
"These stockings," he grinned, are the first things to go!"
Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,
Around the whole store, and he took every present!
Dart Guns! And Nightscopes! Handcuffs! And Knives!
Hula Dolls! Code books! Sceptres! Bee Hives!
And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Thrush, very nimbly,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimbley!
Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Spies' feast!
He took the Pogue pudding! He took the roast beast!
He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash.
Why, that Thrush even took their last can of Spy-Hash!
Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.
"And NOW," grinned the Thrush, "I will stuff up the tree!"
And the Thrush grabbed the tree and he started to shove
When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small Spy!
He was blond, he was cute, was he really a guy?
The lad had been taking a quick midnight strolley
He'd really been wanting a cold cup of Stoli.
He stared at the Thrush and said, "Santy Claus, why,
Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"
But, you know, that old Thrush was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Why, my sweet little chap," the fake Santy Claus lied,
"There's a tracer right here that won't work on this side.
So, I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear.
I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."
And his fib fooled the lad. Then he patted his head
And he got him a Stoli and sent him to bed.
And when Illya Nickovetch went off with his cup,
HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!
Then the last thing he took
Was the log for their fire!
Then he went up the chimney, himself, the old liar.
On their walls he left nothing but coat hooks and wire.
And the one speck of food
That he left in the house
Was a Raisin Rye crumb much too small for a mouse.
Then he did the same thing to the other Spies' houses.
Leaving crumbs
Much too small
For the other Spies' mouses!
It was quarter to dawn...
All the Spies, still a-bed,
All the Spies, still a-snooze
When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with their presents! The plastique! The rifles!
The shivs! And the garrotes! The Moonglow! The trifles!
Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
"Bye-Bye to the Spies!" he was thrush-ish-ly humming.
"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!
Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
Then the Spies down in UNCLE will all cry Boo-Hoo!"
"That's a noise," grinned the Thrush,
"That I simply MUST hear!"
So he paused. And the Thrush put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow...
But the sound wasn't sad!
Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn't be so!
But it WAS merry! VERY!
He stared down at Spy-ville!
The Thrush popped his eyes!
Then he shook!
What he saw was a shocking surprise!
Every Spy down in U.N.C.L.E., the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!
He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming!
IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
And the Thrush, with his Thrush-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?
It came without sleep darts! This must be some joke!
It came without lasers! Or even pink smoke!"
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Thrush thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"
And what happened then...?
Well...at U.N.C.L.E. they say
That the Thrush's small gun
Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his gun didn't feel quite so slight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light
And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!
And he...
...HE HIMSELF...!
The Thrush carved the roast beast!
