To the tune of “Silent Night”

By W.M. Achrya

Christmas night, party night,
Everyone’s getting tight:
Bosses boozy and mellow and mild,
Working stiffs getting horny and wild,
Nobody’s minding the store,
Nobody’s minding the store.

Swoop and kill, hew and smite:
They’ll go down with no fight,
Trembling, shivering, shaking with fright
When I show them that might will be right,
They’re just muttons to fleece,
They’re just muttons to fleece.

Someone’s out on the loose,
He’s a fox, not a goose:
Sly and clever, not planning to lose,
Bent on putting my head in a noose,
Spoiling my Christmas cake,
Spoiling my Christmas cake.

Fancy twerp, high as a kite,
Calls himself my white knight,
No more brains than a troglodyte,
Only for me to expedite:
Bugger him for a clown,
Bugger him for a clown.

Cowboy man, he’s a cop:
Golden job could still flop.
Meddling bastard has got to be stopped,
Forty storeys he ought to be dropped,
Monkey-wrench in my wheel,
Monkey-wrench in my wheel.

Crack the lock, pack the loot,
Wrap it up and let’s scoot,
Blow the building to hell en route,
All the witnesses deaf and mute...
But here’s the cowboy from Hell,
Here comes the cowboy from Hell!

Now I hang by my arm,
Time to pray, sing a psalm,
Shortly I’ll come to grievous harm,
Little will there be left to embalm,
I hear a Yippee-ki-yay,
I hear a Yippee-kiiiiiii...