T'was the week before Christmas
And all through the place
Angel was wagging, a smile of her face
Why, you ask nicely, is she filled with such glee
She heard someone say the angel
Goes on top of the tree!

I'll try to explain that no fir tree could stand
With a wiggle pup on top, in this or any land
Forty pounds of muscle is simply too much!
We'll put a star up there instead, dear
And as compensation for dashed hope
We'll set the Orc to playing tug with you
With a green and red rope!