did not
tid bot
scheming up a big plot

fit cat
shit shat
with your christmas cheery fat

trial cake
need-a break
having your fucking headache

And I hope,
            that your life will be fun
And I hope, 
            that you're not all but done
And I hope,
            that you'll come round again
And I hope, 
            that you'll stay soft and simple
And lastly I hope,
            that you'll always think Spend.

With the heralding angels, and rudolph and blitzen
You'll spend up a hurricane, a cashin', a cishin'
Stuck in this world of merry bliss and inflated lies,
Making justice for false bonds with false ties.

And fat bloated salesman who wreak of jin and beer
smeer upon our faces and kids what should be true cheer
but the cash behind the seat has brought these fat bears from hibernation
and helped start a ruckess to fuck the whole nation.

And no name and no frills and black and gold and shit,
make looking cheaping a thrill and takes your money to pit
and the poor spirit of st nick is once again raped by sorrow,
as the markets, the fuckers, begin christmas tomorrow.

And we hope,
             that you spend none the wiser
And we hope, 
             that you take life a blinder
And we hope,
             that you continue to live on and on
Because our hope,
                  without you,
                               is gone.