Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse.
No stockings were hung
By the chimney with care,
'Cause we'd been foreclosed
And we were not there.
With my wife in my arms
And the kids in the back,
We slept in our Camry
Instead of our shack.
But we still pay our taxes
And we bail out Wall Street,
'Cause we've run out of gas
And we can't run the heat.
So we'll all hope for Santa
To bring us a buck,
'Cause we know if he doesn't
We're sh*t out of luck.
a christmas greeting from R.W. Sanders