It was a quarter past dawn, All the Whos, still a-bed, All the Whos, still a-snooze, When he packed up his sled. Packed it up with their presents. The ribbons! The wrappings! The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings! Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit, He rode with his… Read more »
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