'Twas Drunk Before Christmas

Twas drunk before Christmas, looking up my girls blouse
The whole room was blurry, her squeaking like a mouse
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
but I tore them down and put up my underwear.

The children could probably hear us in bed,
"Stop!" they cried, but that's not what she said.
And her mom and mine drank wine, spilling on their lap
While the whiskey I'm drinking tastes like crap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
'twas just my friend Tom in his car, drunker and fatter
Right out the window, I hear quite a crash
But it was just my drunk friend knocking over my trash.

And his drunk ass fell down in the snow,
Which was a shame, cause he spilled all the blow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
My mom and hers lining up some good cheer.

We took shots of tequila but the blow hit us quick!
We were more fucked than Tiger Woods' dick.
"I love a white christmas," I did proclaim,
"What a faggot!" they said, and my high felt like shame.

"You're both skanks and whores, maybe even vixens!
Oh, you use Comet to clean carpets, but it makes the stains mix in!
And look at those drapes, you should be appalled!
Now line up more cocaine, before I go bald!"

As I looked for vodka, rum, or some rye
The cabinet was bare, the whole house was dry.
But as I searched the home of the women I not knew,
I found some chew, brew, and sniffed glue.

And then, while tweaking, I heard a noise on the roof
But it was probably just my mind going aloof.
The ladies were talking of shopping, it sounded so profound!
I went back to the daughter, debating the complex nature of proper nouns!

As I arrived, she sparked up a doobie, as long as a foot!
And she handed me a bottle with beer, not of the variety "root."
Like a dream, she pulled out some heroin and crack,
I said "Suit yourself, I don't dabble in smack."

His eyes-how they sparkled, I thought the drugs made her merry,
Until her nose bled out like 100 smashed cherries.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And all I could think of was getting more blow.

For the next fifteen minutes, I stared at a wreath,
while the old ladies watched "What Lies Beneath."
That Michelle Pfieffer, I said, Isn't she smelly?
The old ladies were confused and turned back to the telly

"Your daughter, I say, that's short as an elf,
I think she OD'd and puked on herself!"
I sipped on my whiskey, while the women fleed,
I didn't feel bad, everyone knows not to mix heroin and speed.

I turned up the telly, the women were yelling and going berserk,
They rushed to the ER, while she bled on my seat. Jerk.
And laying my finger aside of my nose,
I asked if they could drop me at off at the 2-for-1 special at Joe's.

They rushed into the hospital, as fast as a missle,
I stayed in the car to listen to that rap song with the whislte.
There I sit drunk, as high as a kite,
Not letting a pesky O.D. ruin Christmas night!