I Got To Do

[Verse] The scenery starts off with a slow pan from a drone cam And a drone operator with cold hands A Bodybag Ben beat bumps, a chime from a grandfather clock Made of pinewood with walnut studs A pearly red unfinished sleigh bed of carbon fiber One can only guess to fly higher and faster from being lighter Pieces of liquor bottle shards crunched atop squeaky floorboards Screens on walls flashing on and off, Weather Report Killington Vermont, Whistler, Snow King Resort Black Diamond conditions travel restricted and closed off A shipment of hummingbird broth was lost because it couldn't gеt across Mrs. Claus had a psychotic blow off And that's why we were callеd But now that we are here we are seeing things are much more deeper than we thought The whole compound was a pigsty, black mold in the carpet Mouldy half-eaten cookies, milk rotting in cartons The elves moved all the factory equipment out of the way Twice a week they throw raves, Nora En Pure DJs Mrs. Claus doesn't know what to do, she just stays in her room They say she has a Fentanyl problem too Okay, Ms. Claus is the spouse, for now we can rule her out But we need to find the man of the house They say he's in bad shape, just look at the landscape I don't care if it's manmade or not, it's a damn shame Mrs. Claus stopped payment, the Goods Department ran out of patience The elves are working for terrorist organizations Rudolf's nose is sick, he can't walk for shit He's certified fit for service but he's got bone cyst Dancer and Prancer have capped hocks in fluid blocks We're wondering what Santa's gonna do when the music stops In our first conversation we asked Ms. Claus About her GPS ankle bracelet, she remained complacent We asked Ms. Claus, "Can you please take us to Santa?" She looked over at one of the elves, wouldn't give us an answer Now this elf was whistling Amazing Grace and didn't say much Looked like he had a pistol tucked, straight thug He said he was a playa in the global human settlement layer And he accepted revenue from Lord Maitreya Another elf said, "We'll take you to Santa But we need your passport, phone, radio and your helmet camera" I complied, gave him all four without blinking an eye They opened the door and took me outside We walked downrange to a Buckminster Fuller building type frame With a door that had a kryptonite chain I almost couldn't believe, I heard the whirling sound of a machine You would use to help somebody breathe At first, I see bare feet, the EKG beep I move closer, then I see rosacea in both cheeks I see tubes carrying red blood out of two man boobs Through a machine, then back into a hand turned blue I was so confused, I turned around to the elves And said, "What in Satan's name have you done to yourselves?" One of the elves stepped forward He said, "This is hard to ignore, but I owe you an explanation I'm not a doctor, but I'm not an impostor I'm a medical proctor and I don't think he's got much longer You see, lactic acid is green, uric acid is orange Sulfuric acid is yellow but Santa's is much darker His citric acid is clear, I know that I'm a fast talker But he's gonna die without the proper anatomic markers 'cause his interstitial fluids have been mixing with unknown Biopollutants Turning him into some kind of mutant" In other words, technically Santa's entire genomic integrity's In great jeopardy's what he said to me And he's been treated for the latest strain, he's positive Non-homologous, we contacted Dr. Oculus Our last communicate placed him in two hours away But I should warn you if he's not here, we have to operate "Operate how? Here? Sure, there's rat shit everywhere This is a fucking sanitary nightmare! Good idea, glad you're in charge, you're doing a great job Look at him! Don't you think Santa looks a bit gone?" Antibody dependent enhancement, what are Santa's chances? Don't they make an ozonated cream for cancer? You little shit, you be using my phone to look at dick pics When I was your age, I used to work at the Big Dig Fluorescent, illuminated X-rays, polyethylene death sprays From a nuclear submarine's wet bay (Yay!) You are pathogenically primed for prime time The meter says 9, 9, 9, 9 And now Christmas is fucked, I hope you're satisfied What you gon' do now Santa done died?