Why are all your words on the outside of your house? Do you feel shut out? Hey, I've got a poem for you in the spirit of the season: It's Christmas and the ground is muddy, The clouds are grey, my lips are bloody; Some guy didn't like the way I park, He sucker-punched me in the dark; Now I crouch outside his bar, Gun in hand, behind his car; "Ho-ho-ho" I'm going to say Right before I blow him away; Santa sure was good to me, He put a Glock under my tree.