BLOODY POOR AT CHRISTMAS poem

                                   BLOODY POOR



At Christmas time, when we were kids, we were bloody poor,

Santa weren't too generous when he knocked upon our door,

But we made do by saving up, yes every little bit,

“We may be poor" said dear old dad, "But I don’t give a shit!"

Our Christmas tree stood tall, and stiff as an Indian totem pole,

With Christmas baubles hanging there like testis on a scrotum,

Everyone loved Christmas dinner, no if's, and's or but's,

Alll we kids would piss ourselves, when grandpa dropped his guts.

We’d leave a twelve pack for Santa; it’ was gone when we got up,

Then I found out Santa was just my dad, the alcoholic prick

But, all in all, we had fun, and lots of cheer:

Now I can hardly wait till I've got kids,

So I get all the beer!

KARL WALLACE

To see more Karl Wallace Poems go to: karlwallaceblog.blogspot.com