So, Mother Mary’s baby’s birthday’s breaking early
Similarly, my back’s sore, probably pained ever since sliding so effervescently past seventy stairs
Blast Beverly’s mansion’s slippery surfaces making banister blisters
Missing merry purposes - misused, erased essence
So everybody better buy me some super excellent presents
Maybe my singular spine suffering prohibits merriment-mustering
Meanwhile, many bitter snowstorms blustering make practicing belief moot, most people say
But still, everybody parties, pulling evergreen bristles
So many standing beneath mistletoe, manning mouth pistols
Planning pre-arranged puckered pecks
Possibly, probably, many stranger salival exchanges -
Proof people should stop smooching by mightily missed saviors
So maybe my eleventy-six presents may be privately savored
Bam!
MC Pantz bringing modern psalms!
Best, sickest, most partying songs ever!
Sucka!