Christmas in the Ghetto.
Lauren Kimberly DeStefano
Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the streets
Dem' gangstas were gangin
and smokin' their weed
The drunks were all sleepin
passed out on the rug
with a note left for Santa
to refill the jug
the stockin's were hangin
on the laundry line with care
with graffiti that read
'Yo, tommy wuz here.'
Then up from the top floor
I heard someone shout
'Yo, shut up, bitch,
dun' make me smack you around'
And down from a chimney
in a white suit and padding
came a loose mental patient
that was a heroin addict
Out on the fire escape
I heard footsteps click
and I thought to myself
gee, it must be St. Nick
With a clatter and thunk
down the building he went fast
he tripped over blitzen
and fell on his ass
I opened my window
and what did I spy
but a bruised, angry Santa
shouting "Hey, I hope you all die"
I offered him cookies
and a warm place to stay
he muttered some curses
and hopped on his sleigh
No jelly-belly
and no "ho ho ho"
Just eight tiny reindeer
and some quite yellow snow
with an 'ugh' and an 'oof'
away he did fly
leaving nothing but coal,
ranting "I still hope you all die"
Christmas in the ghetto
that special time of year
that warms up your heart
and fills you with cheer