Candy canes and Rodolph's nose
Presents wrapped with curly bowsWhat he hated mostly though
His hair was made of mistletoe
He never could escape the kisses
From Granny-maws to little misses
His penny throws and birthday wishes
Were for hair with normal frizzesHis face was chapped from all the pecks
On his ears and nose and neck
To him his life seemed such a wreck
A boy of eight and not too quick
And Christmas time was worst of all
From all the parties and festive balls
He'd hide in closets and race down halls
Duck under tables or in bathroom stalls
But never could he quite escape
Whether Betty Lou or Marsha Kate
The kisses came early and late
This was Bobby Joe's cursed fate
