On the eve before Christmas, Santa was due
With his sleigh, and his reindeer, and his bag of presents too.
He’d fly across the Earth in one giant whirl
With presents to give to every good boy and girl.
The sky was packed solid for Santa’s long flight
With many birds and airplanes; it was not a delight.
He punched his bag of toys in anger screaming, “God, what a zoo!”
And was startled when the bag replied, “A cow says, MOOOOO!”
It was a toy from his bag addressed to Timmy Louse
Who just happened to live in the very next house.
”Now Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen, land this sleigh on the very next roof.”
So the reindeer raced downwards, in one great big poof.
The landing was hard, which made Santa yell, “YIKES!”
Because of an offended, forgotten Rudolph, who nobody liked.
Santa was now in Louisiana, a southern state
With hicks who loved incest, and the possums they ate.
Santa grabbed Timmy’s presents, and ran with a dart
Because one of the reindeer left a really heinous fart.
The march to the chimney was easy because of the lack of snow
And so Santa jumped down bellowing, “GERONIMO!”
Every bit of him was in there, right down to his pinkies
And that’s when Santa wished he had laid off the Twinkies.
Santa began to curse uncontrollably, because of his muck
He was now suspended in that chimney; his fat ass was stuck.
Santa took a deep breath, and sucked in his gut
Until he was loose, and got out of this rut.
Gravity soon kicked in, and he descended in a flash
He fell to the bottom of the fireplace, and landed with a crash.
Father Louse woke up because of the clatter
And it scared him so much, he lost control of his bladder.
He knew this noise could only be one thing: an intruder
One he now felt it necessary to personally neuter.
To a Southern hick, nothing could be more fun
Than to hunt down an intruder with their big-ass shotgun.
He got out of bed, and his lips he did lick
As he walked to the closet, and got his favourite boomstick.
He headed for the staircase, and passed the next room
Where Timmy lay awake, where he would loom.
”Pa!” Timmy whispered, “What’s with the gun?”
Responded Pa, “Timmy! I’m glad you’re awake. C’mon, there’s work to be done.”
So Timmy and Pa snuck down the long hall
Because of Santa’s racket, including his big fall.
They moved down the staircase all quiet and slick
With every intention to kill old St. Nick.
Pa peeked around the corner, but could only see a dark figure by his tree
And that’s when he turned to Timmy and said, “Now Son, listen to me.”
”Don’t make a sound, don’t even scratch an itch”
”We’re gonna go in there and kill that son of a bitch!”
So as he turned the corner, Pa cocked his shotgun
A sound that frightened Santa, who turned around to run.
Pa turned the corner quickly, and took aim for the figure’s head
And with a quick squeeze of the trigger, Santa was dead.
Timmy flicked on the lights, and saw the blood stream
A sight that rightfully so, caused Timmy to scream.
And that was the day Santa died, in 1983
All because this hick couldn’t stand anyone on his property.