Dear one, Santa Clause, dear one, Santa Claus—
bring me a Grand Theft game.
Vixen and Blixen and all the reindeer can play if they’re tame.
Bells a-tingling while [Der] Bingle* sings of home-Christmas flight.
I’ll likely top them ’cause I’m a player with hands; damn paws don’t work right.

Deer-hump Santa Clause, deer-hump Santa Claus—
so that’s Santa Claus’ game.
He doesn’t care if they’re boys or girls—to him, all the same!
Hear those babe belles jingle, swing full—
they’re tingling with delight.
What is never said: that he has a bed;
he keeps it cached, out of sight.

It’s a mammoth one, such a mammoth one,
because of reindeer games…
enough room so they can all stretch out
and show that they ain’t tame.
Freaky behavior for all—Ms. Claus doesn’t see this sight.
So he gives thanks that she snores as Santa Claus comes tonight.