pastiche

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, how I wiss ye'd na been hasty!
Ye'd still be eatin pyles richt tasty
An' rinnin roun'.
I'd then be laith tae scaith thee, mousie,
Like some daft loun.

I'm truly sorry man's unfeelin'
Did nick thy life with wee, fley'd squeelin'.
It leaves my senses all a-creelin':
Wae's me! I say.
I hope it schools thy fellow yealings
Tae keep away!

(to the tune of, and with apologies to, Bob Dylan's original)

1. Santa's at the north pole
Mixing up the present lists
Rudolf's at the punch bowl
Getting seasonably pissed

The man in the red coat
Beard out, hat off
Says he's got a full sled
Your gift could fall off

Look out, kid
Are you naughty or good?
He knows which
You know that's understood

You better not shout or cry
I'm telling you why
The man in the fur-trimmed hat
And a double chin
Wants a sherry left out
You only got gin.

Where do you think you are closing, Dr Beeching?
Is this how a railway’s run?
We are the ones who will suffer for your crime
We are the ones who won’t get to work on time
So how much of our network’s network are you closing,
How long till your work is done?