He's gotta watch out
When he starts to fly--
That buckshot has clout
Even in the sky.

Santa's shot and tumblin' to ground.

They're making some hits;
They took this advice:
Aim for the red snout.
Now all are on ice

Santa's shot and slumped in a mound.

They'll freeze him for the keeping;
Later there'll be a wake.
Forensics doesn't do so good--
They can't trace the shooter's make.

No, the forensics louts
Are not CSI.
Santa's whereabouts,
No longer the sky.

Santa's cloth: a red and white shroud.

Ms. C and elves are weeping.
Later, treats at the wake
Are milk and cookies that taste good;
Ms. C still found time to bake.

Old Saint Nick was quite stout,
Twinkle in his eye,
But since he's rubbed out
In a tell he'll lie.

Santa's 'balmed and stuck in a mound.