No Use for the Younkers?

(Tune: No Use For the Women (Click to Play))

 Ah got no use for the young 'uns!
A good one can never be found!
They'll drool and they'll spew on your belly,
And they'll jump on your ribs when you're down.
They're all alike on the inside,
They're reckless, and vicious, and cruel
And the parents who think they are sweet things,
Are just blindly deluded old fools.

I had a friend was a Bloomingdale's Santa
He was upright, and jolly, and fair
But he bled to death in Bloomie's men's room
And 't was kids who sent him there
If they'd been sweet as folks  thought they would be,
He'd still be a-makin Moms grin
'Stead if bleedin to death on those tiles sir,
A victim of hellacious twins.

They were blue eyed and redhaired and pale-skinned,
They were cute as two frogs in a box!
But when they climbed up on his lap, sir
One kneed him in the rocks.
Well his "Ho-ho-ho" changed to a groan sir,
And the second one started to fib,
She said she'd been good all year long, sir,
While her drop-kick broke two ribs.

Then her sister got mad at Old Santa,
And she hauled off and punched his poor nose
He was bleeding within and without sir,
O-type all down his Santa clothes.
Then the first twin she started to holler,
And she swung with a Barby Doll,
And his carotid quickly split open,
And they laughed, and watched him fall.

Now I'm lying around broke without work sir,
And I just got a card in the mail,
If I'll be the Bloomingdale's Santa,
It would keep me out of jail,
So I'm gonna go in to discuss it,
But my terms, they will be mighty hard,
I'll hold out for a Kevlar-lined suit, sir,
And two six-foot body guards.

Oh, I've got no use for the younkers,
They're banshees, and monsters, and dogs,
While their Moms dress 'em up like young humans,
They're psychotic banderlogs!
So I'm fitting myself out with hard armor,
And those brats won't have nothin' to say.
If they mess with THIS Christmas-time Santa,
I'll just douse 'em with pepper spray!

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Regards,

A.