Have a mauling hauling Christmas;
Take the time to sneak a beer.
But don’t slow down ’cause you know
Your martinet wife’s near.

Don’t be stalling; tear that walling
Out and be quick on your feet.
“Don’t go slow!” the wife will crow.
If you do, you’ll be beat.

Oh, no! You hit your toe;
You’re in pain, and you screech
Blood-blister boo-boo…
Gotta find a leech.

Have a bawling calling Christmas
As you shed many a tear.
You are drawling as you’re lalling;*
What you're squalling ain’t clear.

And so, you have to go
To a doc and beseech:
“Fix me up, won’t you?!”
“That’s a beastly breach!”

Have a crawling sprawling Christmas;
Off that digit’s nearly sheared.
Doc fixed toe, for lots of dough—
You’ll now be in arrears.

This is galling and it’s palling
All your plans; banged feet ain’t mete.
Wife says, “D’oh! You’re such a schmo;
The project ain’t complete!!”

Oh woe! “You’re a dodo,”
She continues to preach.
She makes fun of you…
Wish you’re on a beach.

It’s an awling brawling Christmas—
You were cut, but is blood sere?
You’re now stoked to take a poke
At the wife; she just jeers.

But you’re lolling, nearly falling,
Don’t feel too sure on your feet.
Come to blows? Ain’t likely, so—
A punch her mug won’t meet.

Broke toe makes skipping slow—
You look kind of effete.
She says, “What’ll ya do?”
Teasing ain’t discreet.

With foot trawling, your blood’s scrawling
Curlicues on floor’s veneer.
The wife’s calling, “I ain’t balling
Till junk hauling. That clear?!”