The night before Christmas, and in the truck bed
A body or two and a dismembered head
A hand flailing outward to hold up each light
An axe for the grinding should anyone bite
The zombies had plagued us with what’s in the curse
But I’m not a zombie, no I’m something worse
And no, I’m not Krampus; I’m killer Saint Nick
An ancient reminder who loves a good lick
A beard full of lichen, a pipe in my hand
I smoke and and swear as I ride through the land
The children, I leave them at times with a fright
I don’t have a preference, I just hold em’ tight
My motto is simple: be good or be dead
And that’s how these folks wound up in my truck bed
The saddest excursion I’ve been on in years
A hooker, a pedaphile broken to tears
A husband who beat on his wife every day
The rest were all zombies all ready to slay
The pickings are slimmer but oh what a joy
It is when I sever up each girl and boy
My reindeer aren’t hungry for berries or grass
Instead they like meat: human thighs, breasts, and ass
And I don’t do cookies or milk; that’s not me
I’ll gobble a gallbladder, spleen, or a knee
If children are nestled all snugly asleep
The presents I’ll give them should they make a peep
Depend on the actions they’ve cuddled in frame
I’ll go down my list and I don’t miss a name
Except in the moment with all these undead
And that’s why it’s scarce here inside my truck bed
Another strong puff on my pipe and the bell
Reminds me of duty; it’s time to raise hell
So stop with the lying and cheating, and doubt
For Santa is coming; you better watch out
Removing the zombie infection and plight
Be good or be dead, and to all a goodnight …

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