The stockings were hung on the towel rack with care,
in the hope that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The commode has been scrubbed and it sure is a beauty.
For many an hour it won’t host a booty.
Cookies and milk were placed down on the tile,
and a fluffy dry towel to make Old Santa smile.
Up through the sewer he’ll come with his sack
bearing waterproofed presents, then he’ll go back.
Christmas has changed for each son and daughter.
The North Pole is gone! There is nothing water.
The reindeer all drowned. The sleigh hasn’t been seen.
Santa resides in a big submarine.
He now enters our homes through the rusty old plumbing.
No more lights in the sky to predict when he’s coming.
Global Warming hit Santa much harder than me.
It don’t seem much like Christmas in the room where you pee.