We’ve loads of tales we love to tell,
Bout Jolly Old St. Nick.
Topping the lists, walloping fists,
Punching a heretic.
Nicea’s Hall started it all,
Arius came to chide.
Nicholas rose with fiery prose,
Error could not abide.
‘God the Son and God are one,
Both the same in essence.
Those who deny Christ the Most High,
Damned, stand in His presence.’
Arius sneered, Nicholas feared,
That he denied the truth.
‘Try preaching lies with blackened eyes,
Nursing a loose front tooth!’
The fool then smiled, driving Nick wild,
‘Christ was merely a man.’
‘No more Divine, than dogs or swine,
Answer me if you can.’
As he mocked him, Ole’ Nick socked him,
Knocking him to the floor.
When he could stand, Nick took his hand
And threw him out the door.
Nick, bearing gifts and busting lips,
Came through the hall that day.
Arius saw, with aching jaw,
That Old St. Nick don’t play.
No reindeer games, no elvish names,
He is known for his zeal.
His mean right hook defends the Book,
That’s faith that you can feel!
There’s a reason Christmas season,
Is always taking hits.
Christ deniers; God defiers,
Are ever pitching fits.
We still battle mindless prattle,
Hell gumming underneath.
Nick reminds us every Christmas,
The Church still has her teeth.