Drunk on fear and Christmas cheer,
children count their gifts each year.
Santa's peeking through the blinds.
I don't really trust his kind.
Breaking in and entering,
stealing cookies, drinking things...
What the hell is up with that?
And you wonder why he's fat?
Trespassing upon the roof,
reindeers stomp impatient hoofs.
Each night while the world's asleep,
crazy Santa loves to sneak.
Hiding in the shrubbery,
basically, he's stalking me.
'Tis the season to be glad
Santa hasn't yet gone mad
and shot us all in the head.
"Fa la la la la la la la DEAD!!!"
Knocked over the Christmas tree.
Once again, it fell on me.
Still, he'll find me under here.
This is not my time of year.