All the windows were dark. No one knew he was there. All the Who's were all dreaming, sweet dreams without care. You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You really are a heel. You're as cuddly as a cactus. You're as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch. You're a bad banana with a greasy black peel. You're a monster, Mr. Grinch. Your heart's an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders. You've got garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch. I wouldn't touch you with a 39 and a half foot pole. All I need is a reindeer. So he took his dog, Max, and he took some black thread and he tied a big horn on the top of his head. Then the Grinch said, Getty up! And the sleigh started down to the homes where the Who's lay a snooze in their towels. This is stop number one, the old Grinchy Claw's hissed as she climbed to the roof, empty bags in her fist. Then he slid down the chimney, a rather tight pitch. But if Santa could do it, then so could the Grinch. He slithered and slunked with a smile most unpleasant around the whole room and took every present. Pop guns, Pompanoose, and cookies, and drums, checkerboards, mistle beans, popcorn, and plums. And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grinch very nimbly stuffed all the bags one by one up the chimney. You're a foul one, Mr. Grinch. You're a nasty, wasty skunk. Your heart is full of unwashed socks. Your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Grinch. The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote, stink, stank, skunk. You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch, with a nauseous souvenir. You're a crooked jerky jockey, and you drive our crooked house, Mr. Grinch. You're a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce. You're a foul one, Mr. Grinch. You're a nasty, wasty skunk. Your heart is full of unwashed socks. Your soul is full of unwashed socks. You're a crooked jerky jockey, and you drive our crooked house, Mr. Grinch. You're a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce. You're a crooked jerky jockey, and you drive our crooked house,