Against my better judgment
I took my young son to the store
And we queued up for an hour
So he could see Santa Claus
The grotto was cheap and nasty
It was a terrible site to behold
I thought the whole thing a rip off
And my son thought he was too old
Santa’s little helper was pregnant
The head Elf was high as a kite
But I thought if we stayed in line
Every thing would turn out alright
Well he climbed onto Santa’s lap
To tell him his Christmas wish
But Santa smelled of whisky
And his trousers smelled of piss
It was about making memories
Well, according to my wife
But instead of a memorable visit
I think we scarred him for life
