Now I’m not one to complain at such a festive time of year:
I wouldn’t want to spoil December’s fun and festive cheer.
But now and then, please spare a thought for one poor tired elf
Who’s feeling overworked and rather sorry for himself.
I once made toys in Santa’s state-of-the-art factory:
Where we elves were master craftsmen: the best that there could be.
I spent hours making train sets and horses out of wood:
And the pay and the conditions were really very good.
But few kids now want wooden train sets, or a rocking horse:
And so I signed myself up for an Elf Outplacement Course.
There were a few jobs out there that I thought that I could do
Which would take me from the factory and on to pastures new.
I could help on the sleigh team, but I’m not a sleigh mechanic
And the thought of flying always did put me in quite a panic.
Helping in a grotto seemed one way to earn my pay:
But at my age, it gets tricky to be on your feet all day.
And then I found the perfect job (or at the time it seemed)
As a member of an elite squad – the Elf Surveillance Team.
I joined up, and straight away I signed up for my shelf –
The perfect job, I figured, for an ageing, footsore elf.
All I’d have to do was sit up on the shelf – or so I thought –
Watch the children playing nicely, and then write the odd report.
So I put on my red suit and promptly jumped into the post
All ready to be unwrapped by a festive family host.
The adults were delighted and the children shrieked with glee
How little did I know then what would be in store for me!
Since then I’ve been woken up at some ungodly hour
To make snowballs out of water and half a tonne of flour
To decorate the tree with streamers and old toilet rolls
And write “HO HO HO!” in icing sugar round the cereal bowls
I’ve driven plastic cars around with dinosaurs inside
Been forced into a marriage with a Barbie as my bride
I’ve scattered all the Cheerios around the kitchen floor;
I’ve hung upside down for hours from the top of the front door;
They’ve even got me buying bedding! I’m really quite perplexed:
I dare say they’ll be asking for a brand-new sofa next.
Now I’m flat broke and exhausted, and waiting for the day
Where someone comes to rescue me and smuggle me away
I did find a firework, which I hid up my sleeve
So I can send a distress signal sometime on Christmas Eve.
Perhaps Santa will hear me, and hurry to my call –
For getting out of here would be the finest Christmas gift of all.
I’ll go back to the North Pole, just grateful I’m alive
And exchange my resignation for a nice P45.