(A Parody of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”)

You’d better read slow, you’d better read twice,
You’d better keep lawyers on speed-dial advice.
The Epstein files are coming to town.

They’re boxed in exhibits, unsealed by decree,
With footnotes and dates and a judge’s “we’ll see.”
The Epstein files are coming to town.

They list who called who,
They show who flew where,
They don’t explain motives—
Just names in the air.

You can argue context,
You can plead “unknown,”
But PDFs travel fast once they’re shown.

So watch the press scrum, watch allies divide,
Watch statements get edited, revised, then denied.
The Epstein files are coming to town.

There are flight logs cited, names and dates,
High-profile circles, charitable states.
Bill Clinton acknowledged crossing paths then,
Said nothing improper, cut ties since when.
No charges written, no verdicts shown—
Just records reflecting who was known.

There’s cable-news chatter, there’s leaks after dark,
There’s careful non-denials that don’t quite disembark.
The Epstein files are coming to town.

They’re not convictions, not verdicts, not proof,
They’re records and logs with a procedural roof.
The Epstein files are coming to town.

And somewhere a spokesperson clears their throat,
Says, “Nothing improper,” then issues a note.
While lawyers say, “Facts,” and pundits say, “Wait,”
And everyone checks who’s mentioned on page eight.

So sleep tight, Washington—Christmas is near,
With redactions, releases, and year-end frontier.
No carols of comfort, no tidy bowdown—

🎄 The Epstein files are coming to town.