Oh no, merry is not Old Nick,
Old Nick don't fill you with cheer,
Nooooooooooo.

Like way-nuts North*, who's an anus hole,
There's a tail-of-red pitch man that will scald your soul,
A squeal heinous rat that Mess'd up and led
Us to fears and a postelection sense of dread.

It's Dick, grizzled Old Nick,
Grizzled Old Nick.
It's Dick, grifters his clique,
Grifters his clique.

And Dick leads the undead
As the grizzled Old Nick.
If his heart starts a-sloggin',
In him more stents stick.
His javelin tail's red
And the fire he can't feel.
From his mouth issues hot gas,
Man's flesh is his meal.

It's Dick, grizzled Old Nick,
Grizzled Old Nick.
Sh*t! The triggers go "click,"
Triggers go "click."

Run, run in fear,
Run, run in fear,
No-o-o-o!
Run, run from here,
Shotgun is near--
He don't miss no one.

And snortin' up the blow
Is his lightweight freak,
Chuggin' down dozens of beers
And unable to speak.
Or else his words are garbled;
He don't know sh*t from Shi',
But this loser is a sham;
Dick's really the head guy.

It's Dick, grizzled Old Nick,
Grinchy old pr**k.
With a pitchfork he'll stick,
Pitchfork he'll stick.

Nooooooooooo!
Scary hitman, Old Nick.
Dick don't miss; he'll shred your ear.

Nooooooooooo!
Scary hitman, Old Nick.
Dick engenders loathing, fear.

Ohhhhhhhhhh
Marriage: "chick, man": Old Nick.
Dick nixed same-sex hitches; here. . .

Hmmmmmmmmm?
Mary's nixed man, Old Nick?
. . .is dick's dyke chick, gender's queer.

Yummmmmmmmm!
Malted-drink man, Old Nick.
Dick sips strictly Maudite** beer.


*Oliver
**"The Damned One," Quebec-brewed malt beverage with a representation of the devil in the logo.