It was the night of Christmas Eve,
And Santa was preparing to leave.
He filled his sleigh with lots of toys,
Ready to give to girls and boys.

He skipped and plopped down into the sleigh,
Then the reindeer flew up and away.
He visited each country, one by one,
And save for Poland, he skipped none.

By this time it was almost dawn,
And Santa made a great big yawn,
He turned the sleigh back toward his home
And allowed his senile mind to roam.

He thought of the cookies, milk and cake,
All of which he had been glad to take.
He thought of the stockings all in place,
And he thought of stuffing his fat face.

And in his pond'ring he did not see,
Flight sixteen, en route to Hawaii.
The plane was flown by pilot Bob,
Who did nothing besides his job.

But Bob had had too much eggnog
And he did not see the sleigh through the fog.
He flew straight toward the man in red,
And now comes the moment we all dread.

'Cause Santa did not see the seven forty seven,
But it does not matter now, because he's in heaven
And all that's left is a crumpled sled,
And nine flat reindeer, all good and dead.

Copyright © 2003