Yuletide poetry

The festive season looms again
pressies to wrap and cards to pen
Lets 'do' Santa with a 9 mil Sten
or bright and shiney fcuk off Bren

I hate the cnut he makes me spend
And every bastard wants to lend
Misery at donuts house is the trend
when will this cnuting season end

You end up getting fcuk all you like
Sooner suffer a lightning strike
I want a big bitching motorbike
not a desk tidy with flashing lights

Leave me alone with your festive cheer
I'll sit alone with a crate of beer
Tele programmes over run with queers
lance the bastards on blunted spears

I hate Chrimbo its over rated
for this poem I'll be berated
So with all your mothers I have mated
Tied them up and fornicated, and over thier heads masterbated

Your prezzies from me, a mum full of cream
It is infact my yuletide dream
Shortfuses mother she did scream
So I stoved her head in with a shovel ( but it had mistletoe on it :D)

Anyone else as bored as I am this morning :D :D :D
Santa comes but once a year
Bet Dale catches it in her arse-hole though ......... :D

I know it doesn't rhyme but its topical
With a smiling face full of joy and glee
The family put up the Christmas tree

Danger popped in and around the corner
wandered our sad lonely little jack horner
and fondled the children, Brian and Lorna

Lets not destroy Chrimbo its happy and gay
Gods planned a Tsunami for Boxing Day
pressies and family all swept away
Really good of the bloke, makes me want to pray

Celebrate the Birth of the Lord our Christ
By making the tiddlies pay the price
a kind of religous sacrifice

Gods a cnut its all a stitch
Vicars and Padres, they're all his bitch
I'm more likely to worship Grotbags the witch
but I'm not bitter, not one bit.
I must be a heathen and a sinner
Judas scoffed my christmas dinner
I'd rather suck off Michael Winner
Then tickle Herods hairy grinner
Than sit with the happy bunch of cnuts that come to my house and drink all my fcuking booze on Christmascnutingday

Saw this, couldn't resist
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
the whole goddamn family was drunk as a louse,
with mom in the whore house and dad in jail,
I sat myself down to a cold glass of ale.

When out on the lawn, I heard such a clatter,
I got off my sister to see what was the matter.
And what to my stoned-out eyes should appear,
but a shitty old sleigh and eight ******* reindeer.

With a dirty old man who was beating his dick,
I knew at that moment, it must be St. Nick.
He flew across the lawn and up the house wall,
he cried onward you bastards or it's off with your balls.

Then down the chimney he came like a bat out of hell,
I knew at that moment, the fat ****** fell.
He filled all the stockings with drugs and beer,
and a big rubber dick for my brother who's queer.

And up again he went with a fart,
that son of a bitch blew my chimney apart.
And I heard him say as he flew out of sight,
"piss on you all it's been a hell of a night."
In southern oceans I do sit,
But I lie not in my pit,
for Crimbo cards for poor orphans I do write,
to jeer and laugh at their plight,
for in this festive time,
mummy and daddy are dead and laying in lime.
Christmas Greetings from a festive romancer
Wishing you arthritis, Bullemia and a good dose of cancer
Climbing on Rudolph and chewing off Prancer
Before getting raped by a Queens royal Lancer
The lights are up around the town,
The weather has got shiitty,
The shops have got their trees put up,
It all looks very pretty,
The children smile and jump about,
Their faces flushed and red,
For Christmas time is here again,
The time of year I dread.

There is no peace within my heart,
No magic in my soul,
If the baby Jesus was alive,
I'd throw him down a hole,
I'd kick the Holy Mother's cnut,
Shove Joseph up her arrse,
If I could save this blessed earth,
From this stupid yearly farce.

For each and every single year,
That I can still remember,
I've had to bear this awful crap,
Beginning in November,
And finishing sometime in June,
When I can take no more,
Of finding giftwrap in my shoes,
And needles on my floor.

It starts with that forsaken task,
Of compiling lists of presents,
For all my 'dearly cherished kin',
That bunch of fcuking peasants.
The bsatard rellies bleed me dry,
They do it every year,
Whilst sniggering amongst themselves,
It right gives me the fear.

Like witches in a firey cave,
Their lists already writ,
They cackle strangely as they buy,
Huge piles of awesome shiit,
A nasty jumper? Dreadful socks?
All sizes way too titchy,
Or maybe some cheap aftershave,
Just to make my skin all itchy.

Poison sweets from some shop,
Where all things cost a quid,
Revolting slippers, fearsome red,
Handmade by some blind flid,
Or ghastly biscuits in a tin,
That taste a lot like soap,
Which I'd rather cook my cock than eat,
Or beat myself with rope.

And when the presents, still unwrapped,
Are safely in the bin,
On Christmas morning, half asleep,
Yet half piissed-up on gin,
I'll go about the business,
Of preparing a great feast,
For fifteen hundred people,
I care not for in the least.

The turkey is a wretched bird,
Its flesh brings me no mirth,
And sprouts could be the foulest thing,
E'er dug up from this earth.
Melon balls are tastless filth,
They irk my constitution,
I'd rather fork my eye balls out,
Or take up male prostitution.

Christmas pudding can fcuk off,
And crackers don't amuse me,
And sherry trifle's not that great,
(Unless it's really boozy),
And Christmas telly's utter shiete,
Please drown me in a pond,
Instead of forcing me, again,
To watch James ******* Bond.

And in the corner of the room,
You know what there will be,
Bedecked with lights and bits of shiete,
There stands the Christmas tree.
A fcuking tree,
A fcuking tree,
Indoors. It isn't sane,
It spreads its needles far and wide,
To bring my poor feet pain.

So if by chance you pass me by,
At some point in December,
I'd kindly ask you this one thing -
I hope you'll please remember,
Don't wish me 'Happy Christmas'
Because Yuletide is but a farce,
And I'll grab the nearest sodding Christmas tree,
And ram it up your arrse (backwards) :lol:

Bah Humbug!!
Christmas is coming, MDN is still getting fat,
Please put a bung in Dales gopping slack tw.at,
If you haven’t got a bung then a bin lid will do,
If you haven’t got a bin lid then only a blob will save you.

Christmas is coming, the lights are on the tree,
Trolly’s got her stockings on and posted for all to see,
Decorate your spruce with tinsel and a bauble or two,
Then top your tree with our resident pigmy RTFQ

Christmas is coming, the season of good cheer,
Let's all sing a carol whilst fingering ourselves up the rear,
If you haven't got a carol, a jolly song will do;
As you pull that finger out and seasonal skiff with the poo!
In this time of Yuletide cheer,
Cait's suitors come from far and near,
A furtive tap comes at the door,
and a brown envelope falls to the floor,
A grubby fiver it does hold,
To buy the keys to Cait's browneye bold,
And grimy claws scratch at the letter,
For cash in hand is all the better,
For a Welsh taxi drivers group,
To dig out all night on fair Cait's hoop...
Christmas comes but once a ferkin',
An' when it does, I'm ferkin' werkin'!
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