It was night for the HURGIT TRIBE,
the dead slave did imbibe,
a heart broken by snow and sleet,
dark and muddy cold,
near the mold,
not far from Madison Square Gardens …
Where the hubbly people drink,
at the FLIX parking lot,
full of snot,
pimps and whores …
Stockings baby … stockings.
STOCKINGS FROM THE CARE BEAR … because he fucking cares.
CABBAGE PATCH KIDS from CARE BEAR!
CARE BEAR!
CARE BEAR CARES FOR YOU!
SANTA IS COMING …
SANTA IS COMING …
HE IS NOT YOUR FRIEND …
He IS NOT YOUR GUY …
YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY ARE ABOUT TO FRY!
In a NUCLEAR FIRE!
FILLED WITH MADNESS, and SADNESS, and GONOREA and STARES …
Santa has TECH …
he installed a panning camera,
in the stall,
at work,
he’s a jerk,
Santa watches you poop …
Santa likes to eat your goop.
Really want him stopping by, fucker?
Really want him getting high fucker?
Do you see Santa, pulled over, by the roadside, SMOKING METH!
With Lady MacBeth?
Who is on stage at Randall’s, the all night GENTLEMAN’S CLUB!
DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR KIDS ARE?
Do you know where your kids are?
SANTA SETTLED OUR BRAINS …
He did that …
After CARL the RELENTER left the Denny’s …
We ate the soda-cake, and made love to DEBRA the FAKE.
Our brains were brewing with that holiday spunk,
we were in a funk,
it hit like a clunk.
“It’s Christmas Dan”, that voice would say.
“It’s Christmas Dan”, and it’s not okay.
He came for the children,
to take them away,
he drugs them and robs them,
and turns them into slaves.
If your kid misbehaves,
and this is the key point,
Santa comes a callin,
and your kids will be ballin,
cuz working in Santa’s sweatshop is hell.
And those fucking reindeer …
Sector-9 freaks eat ass and smoke grass,
mortal deer fiends seek land from the Franks …
Chocolate pie hornets are flying to Spain,
to sell them cocaine,
tis the season,
and the reason,
for crack …
So GO GO GO you fucking REINDEER …
TAKE TIRED SANTA FAR AWAY …
TO A LAND OF CRIMSON AND CLAY …
BELOW THE GROUND, no more sound.
Santa looked covered in spazz grease,
as if he’d come from a wharf side hooker jail,
his sailing boat slowly filling with water,
a “fitch and gimble” style harlotry,
on the docks,
with stuff to give …
But WHAT DID I KNOW of this STRANGE ESKIMO …
He had green eyes and fried rice fingernails …
He had jaundice,
and his hands shook from an old tremor,
from some old pain.
Santa has to leave,
he says he’s sorry.
Santa has to leave,
he knows you are hurt.
He’ll come back once a year,
he’ll promise not to drink beer,
he knows he broke your heart,
he left you with a smelly fart …
Your momma is right, Santa lost his fight …
A restraining order has been signed, and Santa cannot find a lawyer in time.
Up Santa … Up you go …
Up Santa … GO mother fucker.
Santa is a scourge-burge …
He’s nothing but grey-menace and broken plastic.
(he’s gone)