On Mixmas, hunting rats is what some mixers do, And I was asked to write this song just for you. Yes, hunting of rats is done on this day, And many a rat the mix will slay. Some will be stabbed. Some will be hung, And some will be snuffed by the shot of a gun. The children scour through shadowed streets, Searching for scurrying beneath their small feet. With nets and traps, they play their part, A festive hunt with eager hearts. The laughter echoes, sharp and wild, A Mixmas rite for every child. But as the sun dips and shadows grow, On their own hunt the adults start to go. Through whispers dark and secrets deep, They track the traitors who dared to creep. Betrayal’s price is steeply paid, For trust abused, the pyre is laid. When the bonfire burns and smoke ascends, A warning carried on the winds. “To those who would betray our kin, Know this fate lies deep within.” The stench, a signal above the sky, Of broken trust or a severed tie. The stew pot boils, the flavors rise, A feast prepared beneath the skies. The children’s hunt, a prize to share, As tales of victory fill the air. With mugs raised high and voices strong, They sing the Mixmas hunting song: "Oh, rats that skitter, rats that betray, This is your reckoning day. From claws to snitches, all must fall, For Mixmas justice comes to all!" So mark the date and join the cheer, For Mixmas comes but once a year. A day of trials, a night of flame, To cleanse the mix and stake our claim. Through smoke and stew, we celebrate, A day on which the rats meet their fate.
