Santa Claus Is On The Dole Poem by Ryan Swain

Last Christmas when Santa got ready
He'd down his first pint to make his hands steady

He'd load up his sleigh with gifts and great cheer,
not forgetting his fridge, inside a 12 pack of beer

Santa had a jolly elf who made toys with a grin,
but remembered the brats whilst slurping his gin

In a drunken state down the chimney he'd fall,
then when the job was all done, to his reindeer he'd call

'Hey Fosters, hey Guinness, hey Carlsberg' he'd shout,
'Throw me a rope so I can get out! '

Santa flew through the night no house was excluded
leaving toys and a note 'Batteries are NOT included'

He emptied his sack and he was all done
But then he got ambushed by a small child with a gun

'Give me the presents. I am your worst fear! '
'Sure, take everything! ' Santa said, just leave me the beer.

So this Christmas Santa is out on the dole
Drinking his self sober he's out of control

He loved his job he knew where all the bad girls were at
and now he's out of a job, he's a lonely old tw*t.

He's turned to the bottle and he's full of aggression
Even Santa's been effected this year by the world wide recession.