Twas the night before Christmas, 
        Old Santa was pissed. 
        He cussed out the elves 
        and threw down his list. 

        Miserable little brats, 
        ungrateful little jerks. 
        I have a good mind to 
        scrap the whole works. 

        I've busted my ass for 
        damn near a year and 
        instead of "Thanks Santa", 
        what do I hear? 

        The old lady bitches cause 
        I work late at night ... 
        The elves want more money, 
        the reindeer all fight. 

        Rudolph got drunk and 
        goosed all the maids, 
        Donner is pregnant and 
        Vixen has AIDS. 

        And just when I thought 
        that things would get better, 
        the assholes from the IRS 
        sent me a letter. 
        They say I owe taxes- 
        if that ain't damn funny, 
        Who the hell ever sent 
        Santa Claus money? 

        And the kids these days, 
        they are all the pits. 
        They want the impossible, 
        those mean little shits. 

        I spent the whole year 
        making wagons and sleds, 
        assembling dolls... their arms, 
        legs and heads. 
        I made a ton of yo-yo's 
        no request for them, 
        they want computers and robots, 
        they think I'm IBM. 

        If you think that's bad.. 
        just picture this, 
        try holding these brats 
        with their pants full of piss. 
        They pull on my nose, 
        they grab at my beard 
        and if I don't smile 
        the parents think that I'm weird. 

        Flying through the air 
        dodging the trees, 
        falling down chimneys 
        and skinning my knees. 

        I'm quitting this job, 
        there's just no enjoyment 
        I'll sit on my ass and 
        collect unemployment. 

        There's no Christmas this year 
        and you know the reason. 
        I found me a blonde and I'm 
        going South for the season.