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From C & A to Wait and See Who'd be Father Christmas? It's really not much fun And I for one won't half be glad when the Christmas season's done. Dressed up in all this clobber with this silly bloomin hat, When I'm walking down the High Street I don't half feel a prat. And I've got this grotty grotto at the back of C & A's Where there's always queues of little kids on their Christmas holidays. And I have to greet each one of them with a chuckle and a smile ("And don't forget to 'ho-ho-ho' at least once In a while!") I have to hold their grubby hands and whisper in their ears And pose while mummies photograph me talking to their dears; I ask them what they want when I come round on Christmas day (I could lay odds of ten to one what each one's going to say). Computers are the favourite and electronic games; Nintendo, Sega, Quantum - I can rattle off the names, And when I reach into my sack to pick them out a gift, They look at it disgustedly and walk away quite miffed. They're never ever satisfied; it isn't hard to tell That a plastic penny whistle doesn't go down very well; Some of them are lucky 'cos they'll never know how near They came to leaving Santa with a clip behind the ear. I'm so glad when Christmas eve comes round and I can close the grotto, Pick up my pay and dump this gear, go home and get plain blotto, Relax and put my feet up 'til it's time to go to bed; But first of all I pour a drink and make some jam and bread Which I put up on the mantelpiece beside the wind-up clock And with it leave a little note for Santa - and a sock. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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