While visions of dosh bundles danced in their heads Īnd the trader in her pod, and I on the zone,
The mercenaries were nestled all snug with their sleds, In hopes that zeds would not go near there The bodies were hung by the chimney with care, Not a fleshpound was raging, not even a roar 'Twas the night before Zedmas, when all through the floor
