'Twas the night before Jouvert
. . . and all through the yard,
no bomb tune was missing, no arrangement too hard.
The racks and the pans were made ready with care,
In hopes that St. Bradley soon would be there.
The panmen were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of road march danced in their heads.
Moms in her paint, and I feelin fine
had gone out a road for a jump and a wine.
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