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But the little Lord CEO, no organizing He tolerates,
He sics His army of pigs,
Night sticks in paw, on the poor working ma,
Behave? They show us how,
The free beating is His holiday gift, our hard-earned bonus,
Don't thank Him later; thank Him now for "Christmas charity" has got to go,
Isn't it about time we privatized that inefficient collective snow?

Away digging nameless graves somewhere,
Millions of innocent people are pointlessly dying,
As we struggle to buy enough gifts,
To distract us from the writhing,
To plug our ears to the crying.

'Tis the season for conspicuous consumption,
Forgo your thinking caps for the most trendy wigs,
The reindeer are gone:
His sleigh is led by the army of pigs.

And you don't want a hair out of line,
News flash:
There ain't no fucking celestial infant looking down from the sky,
There are only predator drones, and bombs falling from imperial thrones,
We're alone, but we're in this together,
And it's our responsibility to make things better,
Jesus isn't gonna do it,
And Santa sure as hell ain't,
We need to take things back into our own hands.

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