‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and all thru the station,

Not a DJ was stirring, not at this location.

The requests were denied, as if just to taunt

the fact that Jack plays, only what he want.

He wore a crown on his head, with Aviator shades;

And a big smirk on his face, like dude just got paid;

With a suit and a tie, ‘twas the ZZ Top plan,

“Cause every girl’s crazy, ’bout a sharp dressed man”.

As far as requests, the man did not entertain,

any Daughtry or Beyonce. No Ga Ga and no Twain.

The people were sad, but Jack didn’t give;

‘cause requesting songs by Cher, is no way to live.

True to his form, he played only what rocked;

And Chicago was happy, since he had no disc jock.

The playlists were random and full to the brim,

of pure ‘80s Metal and ‘90s Grunge hymns.

More rapid than eagles, his songs how they came,

And Jack whistled and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Halen! Now, Zeppelin! Now, Poison and Springsteen!

On Green Day! On Journey! On those Boys who are Beastie!

At the top of your lungs! So loud you could cough!

Just rock my face, rock my face, rock my face off!”

The people of Chicago, they screamed and they cheered;

As Jack played the songs they so longed to hear.

But he couldn’t stay long, there were parties galore;

Like Coach Lovie Smith, he was half out-the-door.

But the listeners heard, as he drove that Hummer outta sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.”