I used to believe in Santa Claus
So jolly and red and so fat.
I was a big fan of Christmas
No holiday was as great as that.
Not Easter with those funny eggs
Not even Halloween with candy.
No, that thing about tons of presents
To me, that was fine and dandy.

And we even got two weeks off
Nobody had to go to school.
Then coming back with new clothes
That made me look so cool.
Nothing compared to Santa Claus
The flying reindeer, ** ** guy.
I used to try to stay awake
So I could see him flying by.

It was such a great reality
To know that dude was up there
In the frozen north pole air
Making stuff for kids everywhere.
That was the world I reveled in,
Where everyone celebrated.
I knew I was not the only one
Who sat by the tree and waited.

I don’t remember being confused
By the Santas in department stores.
Santa had lots of helpers, I knew,
And this guy was just one more.
I did have a problem with chimneys
And a bag that he could lift
That carried things for all us kids;
Every size and type of gift.

But kids have a way of helping folks
To maintain a pretty fantasy.
We just ignored things that didn’t fit.
We went about it very easily.
But one day, and I remember when
I got let in on the confidence game
And Santa Claus was quickly gone,
Never to come to our house again.

The sad thing is nothing can ever
Replace the joy I once felt.
Santa was not supposed to be
Like Frosty and too quickly melt.
So, I have to make do with having
The grownup toys I buy myself.
Oh, how I could use a flying sled
And the help of a brace of elf.

I have busted my ****, sliding down rainbows
And fell through many pink clouds on my ear.
I always whistle as I pass by graveyards
Threw hundreds in wishing wells, over the years.
I defaulted my rent on castles in the air.
I carefully avoided stepping on any cracks.
I walk endless miles not to walk under ladders.
I carefully avoid walking near any cat if it is black.

I totally buy that I am superstitious
And I wear that distinction like a hair shirt.
But I see problem in not taking chances;
It may not work, but it couldn’t hurt.

I’ve cramps in my fingers from them being crossed.
I would never break any kind of mirror, of course .
And I still have salt sprinkled on my shoulders.
Wishing on many stars, I have made myself hoarse.
I always look away when a funeral goes by.
I spit in my palm when I hear something spooky.
I drop coins into the bowls of all beggars
Even though most of my friends think me kooky.

It’s not like I go broke on soothsayers
And buy all the amulets I see on TV.
But It makes little sense to take a moment
To avoid the omens anyone can see.

Yes I buy copper bracelets to save me
From arthritis or rheumatism of my knee.
I never wear clothing the color of blood,
That only makes common sense to me.
Some think I’m a few boards short of a fence
Be that as it may, and all well and good
My guess is you all have looked around
To find something so you could knock on wood.

I totally buy that I am superstitious
And I wear that distinction like a hair shirt.
But I see problem in not taking chances;
It may not work, but it couldn’t hurt.

It’s Saturday night at the neighborhood bar
And I know that’s where my good friends are
So I plan to be there to party all night.
I hope we have fun and there are no fights.
But somebody’s bound to shoot of their mouth
So my mellow party plans might just go south.
That’s often how it goes with drunk boys and girls,
But I wouldn’t miss a minute for all the world.

Knee-walking ****-faced. That’s what I’ll be.
That’s how we do weekends in our society.
We’ll play chugalug games and drain our cup
And by the end of the evening throw it all up.
Knee-walking ****-faced, slapping some backs
Probably end up in some total stranger’s sack!
Of the Hammered Hell Club, I’m a member.
The meetings run from December to December.

I like this place where everyone knows my name.
Where everyone has their own self to blame.
We’re all full grown, and nobody here’s a kid.
We each take responsibility for whatever we did.
We’re true believers in a bit of cutting loose.
So what if it means we end up puking in our shoes?

Knee-walking ****-faced. That’s what I’ll be.
That’s how we do weekends in our society.
We’ll play chugalug games and drain our cup
And by the end of the evening throw it all up.
Knee-walking ****-faced, slapping some backs
Probably end up in some total stranger’s sack!
Of the Hammered Hell Club, I’m a member.
The meetings run from December to December.

Some friends I know say I’m not too bright
To go out, and stay out drinking at night
But they don’t have the problems like me.
But it contributes to my state of sanity
To get a little crazy, and **** a few brain cells
And hang out with my peers I know **** well!
Right now I have no time for any deep sorrow.
Party tonight, leave the worry ’til tomorrow.

Soowee, soowee. Top of our lungs
That’s how we used to call the hogs
And every time they would come,
Running just like well trained dogs,
Because they knew it meant food
Even though that food was just slop,
Those pigs have nothing like taste.
But nothing could make them stop.

Lately I have noticed human beings
Who seem to behave the same way.
They gobble the media slop they hear
Every day after mind-numbing day.
They too seem to have no taste
And smell something they really dig;
Nothing any sensible creature eats
But it seems to be ambrosia to a pig.

Squee, squee, squee they snort
And salivate, squeal and chow down
On the unpalatable pap served up
By the greedy media super-clowns.
It’s almost like they would pass up
A meal of honest, unvarnished truth
To gorge themselves to a stupor
On the crap they loved as a youth.

I’m always surprised that these folks,
This metaphoric, too human swine
Don’t go out in public in pajamas
Like worn by young neighbors of mine
With cartoon mice and supermen
Instead of the clothes of an adult.
They go vote like uninformed fools.
And current Congress is the result.

My father and mother gave me life.
Father contributed maybe just a minute;
His effort made life happen to me
Then he mostly cast me adrift in it.
Mother took longer to have me
But cared even less for me it seems
And after she did what she had to do
She just cared about her own dreams.

Life can be painful if you’re an orphan
Uncared for, unwanted and a pain.
It’s almost like people hold living against you
When they see you coming around once again.
Believe me, this is not what I wanted;
Always to be the flat fifth wheel.
I don’t know what else could have happened
But I have always aware of what I feel.

I developed a lifelong hatred of imposing,
Of asking something when not welcome.
I did what I could to show gratitude
But somehow I was taken as loathsome.
It was almost as if to know me was to hate me
And the best thing I could do was to be gone.
To make myself scarce from the party.
My best trick was just me moving on.

So, early in life, I started collecting
A brand-new batch of my family.
I only kept around those with no problem
Letting me know that they treasured me.
I stopped keeping track of the careless,
The users that only wanted what I had.
I turned my ears deaf to any naysayers
And ever since then I have been glad.

Christmas stopped being painful or lonely
With loneliness or abuse being the theme.
I joined in the traditions and merriment
And made holidays the fun they should seem.
I had my decorations and stockings hung up
On the mantel of a home of my very own.
And for those who didn’t care much for me
I wish them a Happy Twilight Zone.

Be what you are!
Be a moving picture star
if you want to take it that far.
Drive a huge fancy foreign car.
Or write a great book
All about the chances you took.
Sit beside a picturesque brook
And immortalize how the trees shook.

Go on and tell!
Say who you are as well.
Don’t wait for the final bell
You won’t get to hear the knell.
Chose the right words.
Set them and you free as a bird.
Make people know what they heard.
Create awe with what has occurred.

Maybe you can paint.
And let people see what ain’t
Or the halo of a beloved saint.
Maybe just to trigger critical complaint.
Or maybe you carve things
Complicated stuff like angel wings.
Carve so you feel the joy that it brings;
To stir the inner soul with wonderings.

Be what you are.
Even if people stare at a scar
Or run away as fast and as far.
Those shallow folk will end up in a bar.
Or maybe you stammer
When something makes you stutter
And people laugh at every word you utter.
What you are made of is so much better.

Middle-school adulthood
Picking on people is cool.
Nothing important is going on
That has anything to do with school.
Glasses make people four-eyed
Not being thin means they’re fat.
Stutters and stammers are funny
And being snotty is where it’s at.

Ding **** bell, being rich is swell
Don’t  be wimpy, not a smidge
Tree-hugging liberals can go to hell.
Revel in your white privilege.
You want to vote for a Democrat?
Have you lost your silly head?
Just check all the GOP boxes
With Daddy’s choice instead.

Now you’re all grow up today
And have a lot of political power
Which grows and grows  stronger
Each hour by Republican hour.
So don’t weaken now, baby
Do what you know is right.
Stick to your supremacist guns.
Because you know white makes might.

So use your sarcasm as a tool
Secretly whisper against the weak.
And those weak-kneed pacifists,
Those flag burning, long haired creeps;
Ignore them all; give their nose a tweak.
Just like the women you dated and married
They need to follow your lead in life.
After all, they don’t count the same as you.
The important thing is they’re just a wife.

Ding **** bell, power is swell
You never suffer, not a smidge
Don’t worry if you can’t spell.
Revel in your white privilege.
Never vote for a Democrat,
Don’t be that kind of stupid head.
Just check every the GOP boxes
Faithfully keep your state red.