Department Store Santa!

Little Bobby was so excited; tonight was the night
He had bugged his parents about it so much, they had finally relented
They were taking him to see Santa Claus at Nedworth’s Department Store
He couldn’t quite believe it; Santa, at the strip mall,
Nedworth’s was the biggest store in Twin Pines Mall;
And Santa himself would be there!

Butch Scour was in a foul mood; his day of unemployment had sucked,
And to top it off, to help make ends meet,
He’d taken this job, as Santa Claus at Twin Pines Mall
Speaking of Santa; he’d better be off;
Wouldn’t want the little dip-s**ts to be disappointed
He took a deep drag on his cigarette; guzzled the last
Of his Headspinner Malt Liquor,
And dispiritedly limped out to his ’73 bloat-wagon
He needed new tires for it, but, thanks to unemployment,
That wasn't going to be happening any time soon!
When he pulled into Twin Pines Mall, he parked,
And stared sullenly at the front door of Nedworth’s
As he stared with loathing, he guzzled another Headspinner,
which was flat from laying under the seat for an emergency;
This would qualify as an emergency, wouldn’t it?
Actually, he’d forgotten it was there,
But it was quickly turned into emergency supplies
As a way to rationalize it to himself.  He finished
Taking a last drag on his cigarette, and reluctantly opened the door
The sooner he arrived, the sooner this s**t would be over!

Little Bobby waited impatiently for Santa to arrive
His mom had headed down the mall to shop,
And his father sat by him on the one of the
Chairs set up for the crowd, a scowl on his unshaven face
He was NOT happy about being here; he was thinking
About the all-night poker game he was missing out on

Quite a while later, the front door opened, and Santa walked in;
Or more like staggered in.  He reminded Bobby of the Santa he’d
Recently seen on a rerun of ‘The Simpsons’; a sad,
Sort of pathetic-looking poor excuse for a Santa
This couldn’t be THE Santa Claus, could it?
Santa limped/staggered over to a recliner chair set up,
And gratefully collapsed into it.  He yelled,
“Form a line here, and tell Santa what you’d like for Christmas!”

Bobby stood in line, and was starting to think he didn’t want
To meet Santa; for several kids had run away crying
After sitting on his lap.  But when he’d told his dad about
His reservations,
His father had said, “Bulls**t, boy, you wanted to meet Santa,
Well, you’ll damn well meet him; it’s your turn, now get up there!”
And Bobby saw that Santa was waiting impatiently for him,
Bouncing his leg like, “Come on, kid, I ‘aint got all night!”
Reluctantly, little Bobby approached the seemingly-pissed off Santa
“Come on up here and tell Santa what you’d like for Christmas!”
Little Bobby felt like he was walking into the lair of the beast,
As he approached Santa on legs that had turned to jelly,
And climbed into his lap
“Tell old Santa what you’d like for Christmas.”
Boy, it was all Bobby could do not to lunch his cookies
All over Santa’s black, shiny boots; as he sat there trying to hold his breath,
For his breath smelled like stale beer and ashtrays
“Well, Santa, I didn’t know the North Pole is apparently a tavern,
Because you reek!”  “Okay, that’s it!  I’m out of here; They don’t
Pay me enough to put up with little b******s like you!”,
And he abruptly stood up, and angrily walked, weaving very
Much, towards the exit door.  Shrieks from the disappointed
Children still waiting for their chance to see Santa mixed
With angry, ugly curses from parents, who had patiently waited
So little Junior or little Sue could tell Santa what they wanted,
Mostly so they could overhear, and get a better
Idea themselves.  Little Bobby, who’d been thrown clear when
Santa made his abrupt departure, luckily was uninjured,
And relieved.  His father, who was glad he could now
Make the all-night poker game, said, “Come on Bobby, let’s go home.”
“Sure, Dad.  Dad, you know something?  Santa’s a b*****d!”