I used to be a happy elf,
creating kids their toys.
I'd sing while building Christmas dreams
for all the girls and boys.
For thirty years I've worked the job
but lately Santa's changed.
I never thought he'd stoop to this,
the tightwad he became.
The bonus for the work I did
was healthy every year.
As decades passed, it grew in size.
My crucial worth was clear.
I opened up the envelope
and what I planned to find...
about enough to buy that sweet
jacuzzi on my mind.
But what was there instead of cash?
I looked with close exam.
"What the living f#%*," I yelled.
"A coupon for a ham?"
I called him up in bitter rage
and asked him what's the deal.
"If you don't like the ham then quit
if that's just how you feel."
My loyalty was stretched that day
but still I went to work.
I did the chores and loaded toys
to satisfy that jerk.
On Christmas Eve I shined the sled
and packed the massive bag.
I smiled and waved at Mrs. Claus,
that old, decrepit hag.
An hour before the launch was set,
I fed the deer their food.
I knew what I had planned was sick
and down-right simply rude.
I stuffed them full of laxatives
then fit their reins in place.
'bout halfway through their Christmas flight
they'd shit in Santa's face.
By his return, I'd up and quit,
with balls as hard as brass.
So, Santa, you can take that ham
and stuff it up your ass.
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