Twas the night before Christmas,
Old Santa was pissed.
He cussed out the elves
and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats,
ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to
scrap the whole works.
I've busted my ass for
damn near a year and
instead of "Thanks Santa",
what do I hear?
The old lady bitches cause
I work late at night ...
The elves want more money,
the reindeer all fight.
Rudolph got drunk and
goosed all the maids,
Donner is pregnant and
Vixen has aids.
And just when I thought
that things would get better,
the assholes from the IRS
sent me a letter.
They say I owe taxes-
if that ain't damn funny,
Who the hell ever sent
Santa Claus money?
And the kids these days,
they are all the pits.
They want the impossible,
those mean little shits.
I spent the whole year
making wagons and sleds,
assembling dolls... their arms,
legs and heads.
I made a ton of yo-yo's
no request for them,
they want computers and robots,
they think I'm IBM.
If you think that's bad..
just picture this,
try holding these brats
with their pants full of piss.
They pull on my nose,
they grab at my beard
and if I don't smile
the parents think that I'm weird.
Flying through the air
dodging the trees,
falling down chimneys
and skinning my knees.
I'm quitting this job,
there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my ass and
collect unemployment.
There's no Christmas this year
and you know the reason.
I found me a blonde and I'm
going South for the season.
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