A Christmas poem

The stockings are hung on the chimneyAnd the presents are under the treeAnd mama’s in the kitchen making some herbal teaThe windows are covered with frostThe candles are all alight But as I wander through this quiet houseSomething just doesn’t seem rightYou see, every year the neighbors bring usA Swiss Colony beef logBut the neighbors aren’t aroundThere’s no beef log to be foundthis year Christmas isn’t ChristmasWithout a Swiss Colony beef logWithout those cheeses and meatsI don’t know how I’ll get along — from the South Park Christmas cd, “Mr. Hankey’s Christmas Classics”

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