| Listen everyone. |
| There were objects so peculiar
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| They were not to be believed
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| All around, things to tantalize my brain
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| It’s a world unlike anything I’ve ever seen
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| And as hard as I try
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| I can’t seem to describe
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| Like a most improbable dream
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| But you must believe when I tell you this
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| It’s as real as my skull and it does exist
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| Here, let me show you
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| This is a thing called a present
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| The whole thing starts with a box
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| A box?
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| is it steel?
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| Are there locks?
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| Is it filled with a pox?
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| A pox
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| How delightful, a pox
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| If you please
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| Just a box with bright-colored paper
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| And the whole thing’s topped with a bow
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| A bow?
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| But why?
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| How ugly
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| What’s in it?
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| What’s in it?
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| That’s the point of the thing, not to know
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| It’s a bat
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| Will it bend?
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| It’s a rat
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| Will it break?
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| Perhaps it’s the head that I found in the lake
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| Listen now, you don’t understand
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| That’s not the point of Christmas land
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| Now, pay attention
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| We pick up an oversized sock
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| And hang it like this on the wall
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| Oh, yes! |
| Does it still have a foot?
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| Let me see, let me look
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| Is it rotted and covered with gook?
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| Umm, let me explain
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| There’s no foot inside, but there’s candy
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| Or sometimes it’s filled with small toys
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| Small toys!
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| Do they bite?
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| Do they snap?
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| Or explode in a sack?
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| Or perhaps they just spring out
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| And scare girls and boys
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| What a splendid idea
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| This Christmas sounds fun
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| I fully endorse it Let’s try it at once
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| Everyone, please now, not so fast
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| There’s something here that you don’t quite grasp
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| Well, I may as well give them what they want
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| And the best, I must confess, I have saved for the last
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| For the ruler of this Christmas land
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| Is a fearsome king with a deep mighty voice
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| Least that’s what I’ve come to understand
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| And I’ve also heard it told
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| That he’s something to behold
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| Like a lobster, huge and red
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| And sets out to slay with his rain gear on Carting bulging sacks with his big great arms
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| That is, so I’ve heard it said
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| And on a dark, cold night
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| Under full moonlight
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| He flies into a fog
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| Like a vulture in the sky
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| And they call him Sandy Claws hu hu hu
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| Well, at least they’re excited
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| Though they don’t understand
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| That special kind of feeling in Christmas land
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| Oh, well… |