(to the Christmas Song)
Lug nuts resting by a flattened tire
Cold snow seeping through your clothes
Waking dreams with you sitting by a fire
Till frostbite creeps into your toes
Who would have known, the wet flares outside refused to glow
They’ll not bring bright into your night
Cars fly by, not a one drives by slow
Could give a flip about your life
All those drivers are on their way
Those Christmas sales on toys and trinkets end today
And every dollar bill is gonna fly
In these times we find them in such short supply.
And so I’m authoring a simple phrase
To those who, by my house, just flew
So now let me say
See the cops
On their way?
Merry Christmas, adieu.
I hope this offering is not in vain
Your speeding, I do not approve.
You've just heard me say
Slow it down
Or you'll pay.
Slow your Christmas, yeah you.
Copyright 2009 Warren Baker
.
No comments:
Post a Comment