Santa is a Yorkshire man, of this I'm fairly sure.
I heard him tip-toe in my room, at roughly ten to four.
"I ope tha's fast asleep" he said, "or tha'll get nowt my lad".
He smelled of Hi Karate, (must have pinched it from mi dad)
Just downstairs I'd left a treat, Santa likes a beer.
He loves pork pies and single malt - that was dads idea.
When I woke next morning, I ran downstairs to see.
If Santa had been kind enough, to leave gifts under t'tree.
He got our mam a nightie, an' a pair o' China pigs.
Dad got socks and undies, and 200 Park Drive cigs.
My sister got a Barbie, sat on a plastic 'orse.
A One Direction annual, which she loved of course.
When I unwrapped my presents, mi Yorkshire heart did sing.
Each gift that Santa left me, a truly wondrous thing.
A flat cap for mi noggin, a vest of finest string.
The ferret keepers handbook, each gift fit for a king.
So thank you Santa thank you, you surely are a Tyke.
But can you please remember,
