Santa felt sassy and seasoned

Having switched from soda to whiskey

Stirred and slurred, his vision was blurred

Sleigh-driving was stupidly risky

 

Sloshing around but still seated

Strapped in, seemingly quite self-assured

Whilst swerving through Nice, he saluted the police

Whose chopper was wisely insured

 

Donna and Blitzen were startled

Dancer and Prancer were mad

But through the snows, Rudolf led with his nose

Twas a sight somewhat stylish, but sad

 

Suddenly sleepy and sorry

Santa simply let go of the reins

The self-driving car, was much smarter by far

Being a man with a suit, but no brains

 

Stumbling, sweaty and shaky

He delivered then took to the skies

His reindeer were swift and he got through his shift

Helped along by some rum-laced mince pies

 

The sun shone brightly the next day

But Santa, he wasn't so well

His symptoms of greatness, replaced with a vagueness

And a splendid hangover from hell