'Twas The Night We Were Pumpin'

by Pete Puma and Butch Suede


'Twas the night we were pumpin' when all through the House*
Not a ripped dude was liftin', not even Huge Klaus.
The bench press was empty, the curl bar was bare,
The smokin' hotties were gone, nowhere to stare.


Some dickwads were shakin' their big douchebag heads
While homos were lacing their gay little Keds.
And Butch in his lift shirt, and I with wrist strap,
Were liftin' some weights though we both felt like crap.


When out in the lobby, we heard something shatter,
We ran to the noise while the wimps all did scatter.
Butch ran to the lobby and I heard a loud crash,
"Fuck, Butch, what happened?  Your head's got a gash!"


Then a huge dude and me were comin' to blows
We squared off to fight, and he kicked in my nose.
He stepped on my head while he chugged down a beer,
And walked over to pet some weird lookin' deer.

He was dressed all in red and man, what a dick.
He laughed, "Word up, asshole, my name is St. Nick."
Me and Butch stood up, we were done with that game.
And then he yelled out like we were all bein' lame:

Now bench press!  Now squat thrusts!  On leg press we're fixin'!
On incline!  On decline!  Now dead lifts we'll mix in!
To the chin up bar, to the medicine ball
Now pump away, lift away, lift away all!


As two twerps passed out doin' the chest butterfly,
Saint Nick threw them down and stomped on one's eye.
So to the bench press, Nick proceeded to shift
And it was clear to us all, dude knew how to lift.

He loaded on plates and gave Butch a quick slap
And when he finished his set, we all had to clap.
He bowed to us and said "Now, get back to work!"
So we ran to the bar to load, clean, and jerk.


Then he pulled up his shirt to check out his abs
Which is weird for a dude who never ass stabs.
Then he pulled out a bag that he called a sack
And reached in so deep, we could see his butt crack.

He spoke not a word, but the place went berserk
He whipped out a hot babe and gave us a smirk.
Then another and another came from the bag
Each hotter than the last and not even one hag.

A babe for every dude and sure, they were smokin'
We all cheered Saint Nick and no one was jokin'.
We each picked a hottie and left from the gym
And we turned to St. Nick but couldn't find him.


Then he sprang to his sleigh, and gave us a whistle
And made us all promise to wrap the love missile.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, stay ripped and stay tight!"

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*The Rip House, that is.