Nick

A Christmas Song of my own devising:

Little old man with a big white beard,
In the town of Myra he is loved and feared,
‘Cuz he’s generous to a fault
With his fists in a sudden assault.

Cross him once, you might die.
He’s a storm of Justice in a blood-red sky.
When the man says jump, the wild beasts fly!
And they call him Nick.

It’s funny that you think that’s fat.
He’s got the Gospel of Matt as a prison tat;
He’s defending the faith with a baseball bat!
Jolly old Saint Nick.

So don’t be bold, wolf in the fold.
Sometimes a heart of gold just means it’s metal and cold.
When the Good Lord comes for the dead and the quick,
Quickest fists is gonna be Saint Nick

Cross him once, you might die.
He’s a storm of Justice in a blood-red sky.
Santa slays when the moon climbs high!
And they call him Nick!

I think I might work it up as a children’s book and read it in place of The Night Before Christmas to my offspring.

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