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'Twas the week before Christmas, the tree lights were lit,
And the mums and the dads were all losing their sh#t.
There was so much to do, they would need to work faster,
Or Christmas would end up a bloody disaster.
First of all was the school and their endless requests:
"We need signed forms and mince pies and Christmassy vests,
"Send some party clothes in and a big festive box,
"And remember on Tuesday we wear Christmas socks."
There were plays to attend, there were cards to be writ,
Quite impossible to do without losing one's sh#t.
"Just write the cards darling, please don't take all night."
As your child flails around and 'forgets' how to write.
The buying of presents is likely to break you,
You started in March but it still seems to take you
The whole of the year, and then when it's all done,
You've still got the bastard wrapping to come.
The children have told you they want just one toy,
Which you've searched for for weeks without very much joy.
You get it at last and your joy is unbounded,
They'll be so thrilled to hear that you finally found it.
Of course though, they won't, because time has moved on,
And that fleeting passion has now long since gone.
While your quest for their gift has been really quite admirable,
All they actually want now is an out of stock Hatchimal.
The tree must be purchased, the house decorated,
In time for your children to methodically desecrate it.
"Have we got enough tinsel? Are the tree lights plugged in!"
"Do we have enough supplies of intravenous gin?"
And then finally, it's here, and the big day's in sight.
You sit there at home, on Christmas Eve night.
The presents are wrapped and the children in bed,
Waiting for Santa to arrive on his sled.
You chug down your gin as the man on TV,
Standing in front of a large Christmas tree,
Tells us at Christmas the chaos must cease,
For Christmas is a time of tranquillity and peace.
And you think: "ARE YOU F#@KING SHITTING ME MATE???"
Edited by John B

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