Stan Brown
There were some strange goin's on, in the dispatchin' shed,
Up north an' a touch t' the left.
Santa were there with 'is wife an' the elves,
An' t' convener, who's known as Big Seth.

'E were just three foot two, but that's big for an elf,
well, 'e's the biggest one I can remember.
'E'd just called a strike, Santa sez. 'Get on yer bike,
It's the 24th day o' December.'

'Listen 'ere buggerlugs.' Sez Seth with a snarl.
'Yer'll not listen t' none of us gripes.'
Then 'e drew 'imself up t' full height, an' 'e said.
'So bloody stick that in yer pipe!'

'We've been askin' for ages t' lower the bogs,
We can't get us selves on the seats.
An' we 'ave such a toil when we're 'avin' a wee,
That we do it all over us feet!'

Then 'e sez. 'Now listen 'ere Fred.' That's Santa's real name,
Well, actually it's Freddy MacBrine.
It isn't really yer see, but between you an' me,
It makes it much easier t' rhyme.'

Fred sez, 'I'll get on t' plumbers, tomorrow,' 'e sez,
Seth sez. 'What, can't they do it t'day?'
'Well, they would if they could.' Fred said with a shrug,
'But they're fixin' the 'eater on t' sleigh.'

So Seth blew 'is whistle, an' shouted. 'All out!'
An' they all marched off in t' night.
'Yer wanna try my job!' said Fred, open gobbed,
'It's no wonder me 'airs turnin' white.'

Well, they went round t' the reindeers, did Seth an' 'is mates,
There were a new one this year, name o' Sid.
A bit of a bruiser from t' flats at the back,
An' 'e were learnin' 'em 'ow t' play crib.

''Ow do.' Comet sez, 'do yer fancy a brew?
'Ow come yer not down in yer shed?'
'We're on strike.' Seth replied wi' scorn in 'is eyes.
'We've got this big dispute wi' Fred.'

' 'E won't lower us bog, the miserable sod,
An' the bells on us shoes 'ave gone rusty.
An' it's not very nice, in yer bed every night,
When yer feet start t' smell a bit musty.'

Then, quick as a flash, well it were really quite fast,
Young Sid gets up on 'is feet.
'It's the same thing for us, when we're flyin' about,
I've said it before... It's not reet.'

' 'E jus' leaves us on roofs, in the cold an' the dark,
an' usually it's blowin' a storm.
'E jus' sits in 'is sled, with 'is 'ood on 'is 'ead,
an' keeps nippin' in 'ouses t' warm.'

'E sez. 'We're with you, let's show 'im who's boss,
An' tell 'im t' stick this 'ere job.
It's not worth the 'assle for one night a year,
An' it only pays a few bob.'

So, they walked round with posters, an' placards an' that,
Sayin' things, such as Ol' Santa Sucks!
Then they stopped at 'is 'ouse, an' shouted a bit,
Then pelted 'is windows wi' muck.

Well, Fred jus' sat there, in 'is old rockin' chair,
With 'is pipe, shoved firm in 'is gob.
'Who'd o' thought it?' 'e said. 'No Christmas this year,
jus' because o' the height of a bog.'
The end