Near done, Santa Claus; near done, Santa Claus—
he almost hit a train.
Stinkin’ from drinkin’, and his reflexes were not quite the same.
He’d been swiggin’ and renegin’ on riggin' his sleigh right.
It’s rather shocking: He flew so low on a dark Christmas night.

Fear drunk Santa Claus, fear drunk Santa Claus,
’cause clouded is his brain.
He’s in the bag, much drink deployed…just barely cleared the lane.
He was oh so gin-filled, gin-palled, even before he took flight.
It went to his head, so folks had to dread that Santa Claus was so tight.

He’s drunk, Santa Claus; he’s drunk, Santa Claus…been at it again.
He’ll tumble down if he don’t watch out…smash into a pig pen.
Near to earth, he might just fall when he has occluded sight.
It went to his head, so folks have to dread that Santa Claus was in flight.

It’s a miracle he don’t fall; there’s errancy in his flight.
So, let’s just hope that he soars above earth and don’t hit a stoplight.