Twas the week before Christmas and all through the plant
Everyone was working to ship Foster Grant.
The terminals were assembled in a row with care
In hopes that by Friday, they'd be in the air

The assemblers were busy soldering seams
While visions of shutdown haunted their dreams.
I, per my usual, was rushing around
Trying to get my boss out of town

All of a sudden there rose such a clatter
I sprang from my office to see what was the matter.
I dashed up the hall to mahogany row
And rounded the corner in time for the show.

There in his office, so staunch and astute
Was our chairman of the board in a red jogging suit.
His eyes were on fire, his fists - they were clenched
As he stormed 'round the office, everyone flinched.

I leaned toward the door - the room was ablaze
With four-letter words and useless cliches.
"Now C.J, now E.J, now D.J., and Frieberg
On Hanley, on Henry, on Miller, and Youngberg.

"Let's bring this company back up to par
We're selling this place to NCR!"
And they proceeded ahead, despite all the peril
Wrapped it, and sold it - lock, stock, and barrel.

And I heard him exclaim when the countdown was zero
"Merry Christmas to all from your millionaire hero!"