Twas 2 days before Christmas, and across the whole land.
Folks wouldn't be having the Christmas they'd planned.
Biden had emptied their wallets, robbed them of their hope.
He said you can be happy at the end of your rope.
The stockings were empty, they were hung out to dry.
Snuggled in a house without heat, the children would cry.
Biden was pandering, claiming the best Christmas ever.
His connection to reality, he had long ago severed.
He had ushered in poverty, didn't care we despaired.
If we spoke out against him, his backside was bared.
How can you be happy, if your future's uncertain.
When you look down the road all you see is more hurtin.
Yet the elites party in D.C., They party hearty in L.A.
They're a swarm of swamp locusts that won't go away.
Their woke bullcrap insults us, their lies drive us mad.
I'm tired of hearing, these are the best times we've had.
Times may have been worse, but weren't some idiots doing.
Biden's changing the world and we get a screwing.
I will celebrate Christmas, the birthday of my Saviour.
But I got nothing for Brandon and his obnoxious behavior.
The Peoples House in D.C. is the home of the Grinch.
If there's rotting in Washington, Joe's causing the stench.
I won't be forced to be happy by some moraless hack.
The best Christmas present, would be Joe off our backs.
D.L. Crockett -- 12/22/22