’Twas the day before Christmas, and in one part of the town
the vigilantes were itching to take poor people down.
Their holsters were hid ’neath their jackets with care,
in hopes that la migra soon would be there.

The workers were gathered outside of the store.
A job for the day was all they asked for.
And Old Preach with his bible, Sonar searching for “prey”
had just frightened a mover from hiring un hombre.

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
Sonar rushed to his pickup to hide from the matter.
Away to the bushes Preach ran like a flash,
hunkered down low, like sorry white trash.

The mist on the crest of the morning road
held a glimmer of hope for the workers below,
when, what to Sonar’s wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight Arctic reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
Sonar knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Behind him, an army marched up the lane.
He whistled and shouted and called them by name:

Now Chicanas, now Chicanos
Now, Mexicanos and Indigentistas!
On socialists, on anarchists,
On Mecha, on reconquistas!
To the top of the hill!
Tear down the wall!
Now arise today! Arise today!
Arise today all!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
so to the labor center the marchers they flew,
with a sleigh full of justice, and St. Nicholas, too.

And then, in a twinkling, Preach heard on the street
the pounding and stomping of each of their feet.
As Preach buried his head further into the ground,
Down the sidewalk St. Nicholas strode with a bound.

He was dressed in workshirt, and an old pair of jeans,
And his clothes were well worn, but crisp and clean.
A bundle of coal he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a jornalero opening his sack.

His eyes—how they sparked! full of heck and spitfire.
His forehead was furled, his cheeks hot with ire.
His droll little mouth was drawn down in a frown.
He looked, for the world, about to melt down.

He was solid and big, a right menacing elf,
and Preach cringed in his truck, in spite of himself.
A snarl from his lips and a nod of his head
soon gave Preach to know he had much to dread.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work.
When the Brown Berets finished, he turned with a jerk,
and shaking his finger at Old Preach and Joe,
With a scowl of his brow, down the highway he strode.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a call,
And away they all marched, into the misty rainfall.
But I heard him exclaim, ’ere he drove out of sight,

A just Christmas to all, and to jornaleros, a good night!

Well, if they are here illegally, DEPORT EM!!!!

Jesus Christ woman, what part of ILLEGALL do you not understand?

On Don, on Joe, on Minutemen , on SOS and of course, on VIVA LA MIGRA!!!!

A baby was born to a craftsman’s wife. The city they were visiting was packed to the rafters with visitors (a convention of some sort, I guess), so the best they could do was sleep in a barn way outside of town and put the newborn in the hay the cows ate. It was early in the morning when some shepherds from nearby found out about the baby and his parents stuck in the barn. They rounded up their sheep and visited the baby and his parents.

Sometime later, some kings from other countries showed up, killed all the sheep and ran the shepherds off, making sure they would never find a job.

You can write the ending to this story.

The places were filled with illegals...imagine that!!!