Christmas Eve, 1971. The family visits Granddad at the
Vegetative, he says not a word, til the parent's are
gone, then he says to the kid:
"You know what happens on Christmas Eve? He comes to
town to punish the naughty.
This is the scariest goddamn night of the year. You see
Santa Claus you run for your life!"
With seeds wrought in cruel and traumatizing fear? The
madness now begins to take it's root.
An evil thing lies coiled behind the tears, it wants to
On the way home, in the dark of night, his car blocks
the road, he flags them down.
Murderous thief in the guise of St. Nick takes
advantage of Dad and puts a hole in his head.
Billy runs off and hides in the brush
While the jolly attacker tries to rape Mom. He tears of
And she gets in a shot, so he cuts her throat open in
the eyes of her son.
Hot blood, frantic tears soak into the snow? He hides
in the darkness, now an orphan.
His parents lie butchered there before him now? His
hatred starts to grow.
Now a ward of the state, he calls the orphanage home.
Harbours images of death, and crayon gore.
Persecuted by the nuns, hypocritic evil cunts.
Whipped and punished for their sins? He fears
Beat by the mother and tied to his bed, his tortured
screams seem to fall on deaf ears.
Forced in the face of a man that he dreads, his
nightmares give way to a violent rage.
Now at 18, unleashed on the world, he takes up a job at
a shitty toy store.
His boss is a jerk, the owner's a lush, emotional
stress from a cockteasing whore.
Then absurdity occurs, when he has to wear the suit.
His persona takes a turn for the worse.
Bastard children on his knee, he assumed the deadly
Whispered promises of wrath most severe.
A party on Christmas, Sims gets him drunk, the tease
disappears with that cocksucker Andy.
He follows them into the storeroom to find the most
naughty perversion he must rectify.
Strangles his boss with the colourful lights, boxcuts
the bitch from her guts to her tits and
Finally dispatches that old drunkard Sims? Spits the
old bag with a toy bow and arrow.
Santa's watching? Santa's waiting? Fractured psyche
Santa's stalking? Santa's slaying? Lock your doors and
then start praying.
Linnea Quinley, tits so sweet, hangs, impaled on
Still the mayhem's not complete, watch the flick, if
you want more. Correct these lyrics
these lyrics are submitted by kaan
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