‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE Christmas, when up in Trump Tower
Excitement kept building, hour by hour;
MAGA hats were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that the ballot-counter soon would be there.
The Trumps were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of victory danced in their heads;
They dreamed that, at last, the hijacked election
Would be won by the Donald, without any question.
When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,
He sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
There, next to the mantle, a little man stood,
With a white beard, red suit and a list of who’s good.
His sleigh was parked up high on the roof,
With eight tiny reindeer, all fleet of hoof,
Just in case, come what may,
Santa might need a quick getaway.
The Donald shouted, with all of his might:
“Give me the Big House that’s entirely white!”
Santa looked at his list, but he already knew
The Donald was not on it. So sad, but true.
“No,” Santa said, as plain as could be.
“But whyyyy?” the Donald cried. “Why not me?”
He actually wept.
Nobody saw it; everyone slept.
No ballots, no calculator, just one word, unmistakable.
“No!” Santa said, for reasons explainable.
“You’ve been lying and cheating and calling people names.
“Stop being a jerk and playing cruel games.
“Put other people ahead of yourself.
“Instead of the Grinch, for once be an elf.”
