Santa flies into town with Swiss Yodel Air,
The Wi-Fi is tight and the flight has flair.
Once the North-Pole passport has been duly-duly scanned,
The entourage starts checkin’ out the Switzer type of Land.
Zurich, Bern to Luzern, the sleigh is ridin’ clean,
The snow is groomed crisp like a raclette dream.
No fake Santas in fake fluffy snow,
No plastic reindeer, no LED show,
Just snowflakes flyin’ where Alpine winds blow.
Just a silent night where the glaciers glow.
Mrs. Santa’s come along with her secret bank account,
But she’s not gonna tell ya the bottom-line amount.
Tiny elves on the grind with tick‑tock precision
Look like Swiss watchmakers with a holiday mission.
For the German Swiss, St. Nick is moving fleet:
Every gift arrives on scheduled time and beat;
But down in Ticino, he slows his flow
While dancin’ and singin’ with Italiano pronto.
Over in Lausanne, il parle français
Cuz’ them are the words that the French Swiss say.
And in Saint Moritz he speaks Romansh,
As the words bounce off his jelly-belly paunch.
From the monks of St. Gallen to the Matterhorn,
Peeps are celebratin’ Baby Jesus was born.
Now most of the populace are left in the lurch,
But maybe someday they’ll come back to church.
Yeah, it’s Yuletide on the peaks, Alpine supreme,
Peace so complete, man, it just feels clean.
Now deck those halls in a chalet vibe,
It’s a Christmas flow that the Swiss can’t hide.
Go Find yourself in company that clicks just right,
For merry mountain music all through the night.
So, raise your cuspids, let the fondue dribble,
Enjoy the season’s joy with Toblerone to nibble.
Drop your bars with a chocolate taste fulfilled,
Merry Christmas, world — it’s time to chill.
- Richard Hacken