The scenery starts off with a slow pan from a drone cam
And a drone operator with cold hands
A Body Bag Ben beat bumps, a chime from a grandfather clock
Made of pinewood with walnut studs
A pearly red unfinished sleigh bed of carbon fiber
One can only guess to fly higher and faster from being lighter
Pieces of liquor bottle shards crunched atop squeaky floorboards
Screens on walls flashing off and on, Weather Report
Killington Vermont, Whistler, Snow King Resort
Black Diamond conditions travel restricted and closed off
A shipment of hummingbird broth was lost
Because it couldn't get across
Mrs. Claus had a psychotic blow off
And that's why we were called, but now that we are here
We are seeing things are much more deeper than we thought
The whole compound was a pigsty, black mold in the carpet
Mouldy half-eaten cookies, milk rotting in cartons
The elves moved all the factory equipment out of the way
Twice a week they throw raves, Nora En Pure deejays
Mrs. Claus doesn't know what to do, she just stays
In her room, they say she has a Fentanyl problem too
OK, Mrs. Claus is the spouse, for now we can rule her out
But we need to find the man of the house
They say he's in bad shape, just look at the landscape
I don't care if it's man-made or not, it's a damn shame
Mrs. Claus stopped payment
The Goods Department ran out of patience
The elves are working for terrorist organizations
Rudolf's nose is sick, he can't walk for shit
He's certified fit for service but he's got bone cyst
Dancer and Prancer have capped hocks in fluid blocks
We're wondering what Santa's gonna do when the music stops
In our first conversation we asked Mrs. Claus
About her GPS ankle bracelet, she remained complacent
We asked Mrs. Claus, "Can you please take us to Santa?"
She looked over at one of the elves, wouldn't give us an answer
Now this elf was whistling Amazing Grace and didn't say much
Looked like he had a pistol tucked, straight thug
He said he was a playa in the global human settlement layer
And he accepted revenue from Lord Maitreya
Another elf said, "We'll take you to Santa
But we need your passport, phone, radio, and your helmet camera"
I complied, gave him all four without blinking an eye
They opened the door and took me outside
We walked downrange to a Buckminster Fuller building type frame
With a door that had a cryptonite chain
I almost couldn't believe, I heard the whirling sound
Of a machine you would use to help somebody breathe
At first, I see bare feet, the EKG beep
I move closer, then I see rosacea in both cheeks
I see tubes carrying red blood out of two man boobs
To a machine, then back into a hand turned blue
I was so confused, I turned around to the elves
And said, "What in Satan's name have you done to yourselves?"
One of the elves stepped forward
He said, "This is hard to ignore, but I owe you an explanation
I'm not a doctor, but I'm not an impostor
I'm a medical proctor, and I don't think he's got much longer
You see, lactic acid is green, uric acid is orange
Sulfuric acid is yellow but Santa's is much darker
His citric acid is clear, I know that I'm a fast talker
But he's gonna die without the proper anatomic markers
'Cause his interstitial fluids have been mixing with unknown
Biopollutants turning him into some kind of mutant"
In other words, technically Santa's entire genomic integrity's
In great jeopardy's what he said to me
And he's been treated for the latest strain, he's positive
Non-homologous, we contacted Dr. Oculus
Our last communicae' placed him in two hours away
But I should warn you if he's not here, we have to operate
"Operate how? Here? Sure, there's wrecked shit everywhere
This is a fucking sanitary nightmare!
Good idea, glad you're in charge, you're doing a great job
Look at him! Don't you think Santa looks a bit gone?"
Antibody dependent enhancement, what are Santa's chances?
Don't they make an ?ulcerated? cream for cancer?
You little shit, you be using my phone to look at dick pics
When I was your age, I used to work at the Big Dig
Fluorescent, illuminated X-rays, polyethylene death sprays
From a nuclear submarine's wet bay (Yay!)
You are pathogenically primed for prime time
The meter says 9, 9, 9, 9
And now Christmas is fucked, I hope you're satisfied
What you gon' do now Santa done died?
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