Twas an Occupy Christmas, when all through Zuccotti Not a creature was stirring, not even the naughty. Their demands were all sorted and stacked with care, In hopes that Obama Claus soon would be there.
The Progs lay smug in their makeshift beds, While hopes of entitlements danced in their heads. Adorned by those cool proletarian caps, Most had to sleep near where Comrades had crapped.
When somewhere nearby there arose such a clatter, They sprang to the street to see what was the matter. And straight to the barricade bound'ries they dashed, In hopes their dealer had brought some more hash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to the filth below. Then what to their wandering eyes grew near, A red-suited man in a limo appeared.
He was pulled by eight donkeys so stubborn and slow, They knew twas Obama Claus promising dough. 'Cross Broad Street to Wall St. while braying they came, Spurred-on by Obama calling them by name!
Labels: Filthy Democrats, Stupid Moonbats |
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