The George Who Stole Christmas
Every Brit
Down in Brit-ville
Liked Christmas a lot...
But
George Osborne,
Who lived in his ancestral pile,
Did NOT!
The
prick hated people! No matter the season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, that his arsehole’s too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.
But,
Whatever the reason,
His heart or his arse,
He stood there on Christmas, hating the lower class,
Staring down from his mansion with a sour, evil frown
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew all the scum down outside of his gates
Were stinking and poor, the things that he hates.
"And
they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer.
"Poundland must be empty this time of the year!"
Then he growled, with his fat fingers nervously drumming,
"I MUST find a way to keep Christmas from coming!"
For, tomorrow, he knew...
...All
the scummy girls and boys
Would wake up bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!
Then
the bastards, young and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they'd feast! And they'd feast!
And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
With shoplifted chickens, potatoes and ducks,
The Tesco Value devouring fucks!
And THEN
They'd do something he liked least of all!
Every one of the scumbags, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.
They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the oiks would start singing!
They'd
sing! And they'd sing!
AND they'd SING! SING! SING! SING!
And when George thought of the disgust the penniless bring
The more the shit thought, "I must stop this whole thing!
"Why for forty-some years I've put up with it now!
I MUST stop Christmas from coming!
...But HOW?"
Then
he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE CHANCELLOR
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
"I
know just what to do!" The toff laughed in his throat.
And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great posh trick!
"I’ll ruin their lives because they make me sick!"
"All
I need is a reindeer..."
The twat looked around.
But since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old bastard...?
No! The evil Chancellor said,
"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!"
So he stole Blunkett’s dog. Then he took some red thread
And he tied a big horn on top of his head.
THEN
He loaded some bags
With a huff and a tut
On a ramshakle sleigh
And he hitched up old the mutt.
Then
the twat said, "Move it!"
And the sleigh started down
Toward the homes where the oiks
Lay a-snooze in their town.
All
their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the oiks were all dreaming sweet dreams without care
When he came to the first house in the square.
"This is stop number one," The old fucker hissed
And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.
Then
he slid down the chimney. It proved to be tight.
But he was determined to spread misery and blight.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue
Where the little oik stockings all hung in a row.
"These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"
Then
he slithered and slunk, with a sneer most unpleasant,
Around the whole room, and he took every present!
Pokémon cards and a PSOne game!
Second-hand shit he stole without shame!
And he stuffed them in bags in a Christmassy farce,
Stuffed all the bags, the upper-class arse!
Then
he slunk to the fridge. He took the oiks’ food!
Fish fingers and nuggets, how terribly rude!
He cleaned out that fridge as quick as a flash.
He didn’t want it or need it because of his cash!
Then
he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.
"And NOW!" grinned the Chancellor, "I will stuff up the tree!"
And George grabbed the tree, and he started to shove
When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small brat!
A guttersnipe child in a Santy Claus hat.
George
had been caught by this little oik child
And wondered if the police had been dialled.
She stared at the toff and said, "Santy Claus, why,
"Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"
But
George did a thing he was good at, though sick,
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santy Claus lied,
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side.
"So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear.
"I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."
And
his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head
And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.
And when the oik child went to bed with her cup,
HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!
Then
the last thing he took
Was the log for their fire.
Then he went up the chimney himself, the old liar.
On their walls he left nothing but hooks, and some wire.
And
the one speck of food
That he left in the house
Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.
Then
He did the same thing
To the other oiks' houses
Leaving
crumbs
Much too small
For the other Oiks' mouses!
It
was quarter past dawn...
All the oiks, still a-bed
All the oiks, still a-snooze
When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!
He
returned to his mansion, guffawing with glee!
“There’s no-one more evil or despicable than me!
"Fuck all the plebs!" he was poshly humming.
"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!
"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
"They’ll weep at the theft and they’ll never know who!"
"That's a noise," grinned the cunt,
"That I simply must hear!"
So he paused. And Osborne put a hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow...
It
was the sound of a riot! The sound of looting!
The cost of the damage he was already computing!
He’d raise all their taxes! Then there was shooting!
He
watched on the telly
The rioting folk!
Campaigning against Tories!
It wasn’t a joke!
Old
London town burned, the houses, the slums,
The result of the folly of his banking chums!
More people were homeless, more shops were aflame!
He just didn’t care that he was to blame!
He sat in his armchair, drank his Bucks Fizz,
More jobs were now lost, but at least he had his!
He looked in his bags, and laughed at the fun,
The oiks’ horrid gifts, each and every one
Were lining the bottom, each worthless and shite!
A Gameboy Advance and a Mighty Max kite!
An Evel Knievel jigsaw! A Rainbow Brite!
The poor people’s presents were poor and dire,
Ugly and cheap and ripe for a pyre!
George threw them all on the fire!
Tucked up in bed, no tossing or turning,
George had the cash to never have yearning,
But now his old mansion was noisily burning!
The oiks had all gathered plenty of kindling
Placed ‘round his house, their patience was dwindling!
Sick of the poverty and having no money
And sick of old Osborne finding that funny!
His house now in flames and burning up fast,
Old Georgie was getting his comeuppance at last!
Everyone gathered with cocoa and beer!
And whisky! And rum! Such Christmas cheer!
The crowd grew and grew! It stretched back a mile!
Each of the people had a huge Christmas smile!
They chuckled with glee and couldn’t pretend
To be a-full of mirth that George had come to an end!
It’s a grim little story, but any excuse
To fuck around with Dr Seuss
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
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