Post by montez on Feb 6, 2011 23:57:36 GMT
I Don't Believe In Santa Claus Any More!
Look at the title, I MEAN every word,
Because, on this Christmas Eve,
I'll tell you of something that really occurred,
And I beg you, please, to believe.
I wrote a letter to Santa Claus,
And left it in my stocking,
And lads, I don't want any guffaws,
It's serious - though shocking!
Beside the stocking I left him a plate,
Of goodies, and port in a flask,
Hoping my tokens would obligate,
Him to oblige what I ask.
I pondered a while what I ought to say,
Took a sip of my orange fanta,
And started my note in the usual way,
"Dearest Darling Santa,
I was going to ask for a racehorse,
To win The Derby and such,
Then I thought, that's a bit cheeky, of course,
And frankly, it's asking too much.
Perhaps a Rolls Royce Mulsanne,
Something luxurious and speedy,
Or an expensive catamaran,
('Ang on, I'm being a bit greedy.)
I suppose you could pay off the mortgage,
Or buy me that villa in France,
The last thing I want is to enrage,
So I'll reduce my sights - perchance.
I know what I want, I beseech you, please,
To give me a penis reduction,
The one I have hangs below my knees,
It's of solid, thick construction."
I finished off, "Yours grovellingly,
Robin Tumman" and went off to bed,
Hoping that Santa obligingly,
Would not think me a Dickhead!
Xmas morning I shot out of bed,
In my stocking, from Santa, a note,
In writing familiar, and it said,
"TWAT, you're a LYING scrote!"
Look at the title, I MEAN every word,
Because, on this Christmas Eve,
I'll tell you of something that really occurred,
And I beg you, please, to believe.
I wrote a letter to Santa Claus,
And left it in my stocking,
And lads, I don't want any guffaws,
It's serious - though shocking!
Beside the stocking I left him a plate,
Of goodies, and port in a flask,
Hoping my tokens would obligate,
Him to oblige what I ask.
I pondered a while what I ought to say,
Took a sip of my orange fanta,
And started my note in the usual way,
"Dearest Darling Santa,
I was going to ask for a racehorse,
To win The Derby and such,
Then I thought, that's a bit cheeky, of course,
And frankly, it's asking too much.
Perhaps a Rolls Royce Mulsanne,
Something luxurious and speedy,
Or an expensive catamaran,
('Ang on, I'm being a bit greedy.)
I suppose you could pay off the mortgage,
Or buy me that villa in France,
The last thing I want is to enrage,
So I'll reduce my sights - perchance.
I know what I want, I beseech you, please,
To give me a penis reduction,
The one I have hangs below my knees,
It's of solid, thick construction."
I finished off, "Yours grovellingly,
Robin Tumman" and went off to bed,
Hoping that Santa obligingly,
Would not think me a Dickhead!
Xmas morning I shot out of bed,
In my stocking, from Santa, a note,
In writing familiar, and it said,
"TWAT, you're a LYING scrote!"
