Santa, It's Your Bum

Early one Christmas morning,
before you were even awake,
Santa popped into your chimneypot,
and landed in your fireplace.

You thought that you'd been naughty
but he decided you'd been good;
he squeezed into your chimney
and he landed with a thud.

Oh Santa, Santa, what was that bump?
Santa, Santa, it was your bum!
Sitting in the hearth with soot on your rump.
Oh Santa, it's your bum.

Later on when you waken up,
you find him sitting there looking shaken up.
He's sooty and black, there's a crick in his back,
and a sore head where he got hit by his sack.

Oh Santa, Santa, what was that bump?
Santa, Santa, it was your bum!
Sitting in the hearth with soot on your rump.
Oh Santa, it's your bum.

Every Christmas Eve when he gets on his way,
bringing all the presents in his flying sleigh,
he sees that you've left him a plate of treats
and jolly old Santa eats and eats.

So Santa, Santa, look at your size!
You've filled your face with too many pies.
You're far too fat to fit through the door
so you've fallen down the chimney and you've hit the floor.

Oh Santa, Santa, what was that bump?
Santa, Santa, it was your bum!
Sitting in the hearth with soot on your rump.
Oh Santa, it's your bum.
Santa it's your bum.

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