The North Pole was foreclosed upon,
Eight reindeer repossessed;
The workshop’s now an auction house
Where children bid on toys.
Yes, the rumor’s true that Santa Claus
Went big red belly up.
Don’t blame the Candy Cane Bank
It’s not their fault Old Saint Nick
Couldn’t keep his snow white beard
And rosy cheeks above the ice.
Father Christmas was a bad investment
I heard one Bank CEO say to another
He gave too much away without
Collecting proper dividends.
I guess Old Chris Cringle paid the price
As now he’s holding out his hat
For cookies on Fifth Avenue,
And people call him drunk.
The right jolly old elf
Asks for cocoa in the soup line
But he never gets it,
Just his half-potato
With some broth and
This rancid looking
Piece of meat that’s
Floated there too long.
Hunger’s a good motivator
I've heard the politicians say.
But they've never huddled with
The garbage to keep warm
Like St. Nick and countless
Others like him.