Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Poem: Santa's Off Season


No, I ain’t gonna sit in your lap.
Don’t want no presents, no gifts,
don’t need no old man to give my skirt a lift.
You got a belly like jelly,
and crumbs in your beard.
And what's that smell? Wet reindeer?
And it’s none of your business
if I’ve been naughty or nice.
Sober up, fool, and go home to you wife.
Your cheeks are all rosy, your eyes have a shine,
I know that look...too much wine.
And breaking into houses,
that, moron, is a crime.
I just came over to say...
that you, old man, you're in my way,
so could you move that god-forsaken sleigh?

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