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| Merry f'n Christmas from The King! Photo Credit: Scott Finkelstein, Photoshop: @NotAlexJones |
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the ring
Not a wrestler was working, not even Kenny King
The stockings were hung on the locker display
In hopes St. Nick would soon bring a payday
The marks were nestled all snug with their mullets
While sugar plum vodka slid down the boys' gullets
And mamma in her t-shirt, and I in the buff
Had just settled down, man that party was rough
When out in the street there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter
Away to the window, just me and my dong
Tore open the blinds to see what was wrong
The moon on the glass of bottles broken in 'twain
Gave such great light even Jim Ross couldn't complain
When what to my wondering eyes, I saw more
But the King with eight others, all of them hardcore
In a wondrous moving van, looking shabby from age
I knew in a sudden, it had to be Nick Gage
More rapid than Dragon Gate workers, they came
And he shouted profanities before calling by name
"Now Drew Blood, Dan Maff, Crowbar, Kyle the Beast
"Matt Tremont, Wifebeater, Ramos, and last but not least
"Corporal Robinson, now get your asses in the door
"We gotta make money, let's go make some more."
Like dry leaflets after the show fly into the trash
They filed indoors to kick some more ass
So into the ring with the swiftness they flew
With their sacks full of plunder, St. Nick Gage too
He was covered in blood from his head to his dick
And his clothes were all ripped up, man he looked sick
Singapore canes he had flung on his back
And the bounty of light tubes from when he opened his sack
His eyes, how they burnt like Brody, 'gainst Hansen
They looked oh so twisted, made normalcy of Manson
His mangled ol' mouth could shout all the curses
Which made all the marks throw cash from their purses
The stump of a pipe he jammed in Tremont's eye
I think it made the entire front row start to cry
He had a stern face, and a six-pack of abs
That moved in concert when he ripped off Dan Maff's scabs
He was sinewy and stacked, as sharp as a knife
And when he looked down my way, I feared for my life
A widening of his eyes and a gape of his jaw
As he said "Jesus Christ, put on some pants," with an aw
He spoke all curse words and went straight to his works
With a light tube cleared the ring of the rest of the jerks
And laying his middle finger up the air
He busted open Ramos with nary a care
Then the sound of sirens filled the night sky
And back to the van the men had to fly
But I heard him exclaim as he ran far away
"Merry Christmas, fuck you, I'm the King, MDK."
Not a wrestler was working, not even Kenny King
The stockings were hung on the locker display
In hopes St. Nick would soon bring a payday
The marks were nestled all snug with their mullets
While sugar plum vodka slid down the boys' gullets
And mamma in her t-shirt, and I in the buff
Had just settled down, man that party was rough
When out in the street there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter
Away to the window, just me and my dong
Tore open the blinds to see what was wrong
The moon on the glass of bottles broken in 'twain
Gave such great light even Jim Ross couldn't complain
When what to my wondering eyes, I saw more
But the King with eight others, all of them hardcore
In a wondrous moving van, looking shabby from age
I knew in a sudden, it had to be Nick Gage
More rapid than Dragon Gate workers, they came
And he shouted profanities before calling by name
"Now Drew Blood, Dan Maff, Crowbar, Kyle the Beast
"Matt Tremont, Wifebeater, Ramos, and last but not least
"Corporal Robinson, now get your asses in the door
"We gotta make money, let's go make some more."
Like dry leaflets after the show fly into the trash
They filed indoors to kick some more ass
So into the ring with the swiftness they flew
With their sacks full of plunder, St. Nick Gage too
He was covered in blood from his head to his dick
And his clothes were all ripped up, man he looked sick
Singapore canes he had flung on his back
And the bounty of light tubes from when he opened his sack
His eyes, how they burnt like Brody, 'gainst Hansen
They looked oh so twisted, made normalcy of Manson
His mangled ol' mouth could shout all the curses
Which made all the marks throw cash from their purses
The stump of a pipe he jammed in Tremont's eye
I think it made the entire front row start to cry
He had a stern face, and a six-pack of abs
That moved in concert when he ripped off Dan Maff's scabs
He was sinewy and stacked, as sharp as a knife
And when he looked down my way, I feared for my life
A widening of his eyes and a gape of his jaw
As he said "Jesus Christ, put on some pants," with an aw
He spoke all curse words and went straight to his works
With a light tube cleared the ring of the rest of the jerks
And laying his middle finger up the air
He busted open Ramos with nary a care
Then the sound of sirens filled the night sky
And back to the van the men had to fly
But I heard him exclaim as he ran far away
"Merry Christmas, fuck you, I'm the King, MDK."