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Where the fuck’s Santa?
I’ve been up all night.
No Dasher, no Dancer,
not a reindeer in sight.
I’ve baked cookies, poured milk,
and wrapped presents galore
but the fat man ain’t here
and it’s quarter past four.
I said WHERE THE FUCK’S SANTA?
Time just keeps ticking along.
In just a few minutes,
I’mma spark up this bong.
Five minutes and counting,
he’d want me to wait.
I hear him on the roof!
The timing is great!
Down the chimney came Santa,
with one hell of a thud.
Then he made for my stocking
and filled it with with bud.
You jolly old bastard
I know you don’t smoke
but the cookies are baked with hasheesh
and dusted with coke.
The plate full of cookies,
he dumped in his sack.
Then scoffed at the milk
and asked for some Jack.
Three fingers and neat
served in a Ball jar.
My dishes are dirty
fuck you, it’s a free bar.
My Jack he did drink
then asked for some more
so I filled up his jar
and showed him the door.
“Tooth the schimney” he slurred
as he spun us around.
Then he tossed me a package
and said “There’s a pound.”
In a flash he was gone,
with a tug on his ear.
Then sat down did I,
and finished my beer.
Now it’s 4:20am
and I’ve loaded up Santa’s Thai Stick.
3 monster hits I inhaled,
then passed out holding my Bic.
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