Deck us all with Boston Charlie,
Walla Walla, Wash., an’ Kalamazoo!
Nora’s freezin’ on the trolley,
Swaller dollar cauliflower alley-garoo!

Don’t we know archaic barrel,
Lullaby Lilla boy, Louisville Lou?
Trolley Molly don’t love Harold,
Boola boola Pensacoola hullabaloo!

Bark us all bow-wows of folly,
Polly wolly cracker n’ too-da-loo!
Hunky Dory’s pop is lolly gaggin’ on the wagon,
Willy, folly go through!

Donkey Bonny brays a carol,
Antelope Cantaloup, ‘lope with you!
Chollie’s collie barks at Barrow,
Harum scarum five alarum bung-a-loo!

I see you got here late, just as I am too late to take active part in the discussion.

But your send-up of Winter Wonderland @ #74 was truly brilliant — and gave me a much-needed hearty laugh. It also scans perfectly.

Thanks for that!

In the store, there’s a teddy
Little straps, like spaghetti
It holds me so tight
Like handcuffs at night
Walkin’ ’round in women’s underwear

In the office there’s a guy named Melvin,
He pretends that I am Murphy Brown
He’ll say, “Are you ready?” I’ll say, “Whoa Man!”
“Let’s wait until our wives are out of town!”

Later on, if you wanna
We can dress, like Madonna
Put on some eyeshade
And join the parade
Walkin’ ’round in women’s underwear

Lacy things- missin’
Didn’t ask- permission
Wearin’ her clothes
Her silk pantyhose
Walkin’ ’round in women’s underwear
Walkin’ ’round in women’s underwear
Walkin’ ’round in women’s underwear

Happy festivus

St Stephen’s Day Murders

I knew of two sisters whose name it was Christmas,
And one was named dawn of course, the other one was named eve.
I wonder if they grew up hating the season,
Of the good will that lasts til the feast of st. stephen
For that is the time to eat, drink, and be merry,
’til the beer is all spilled and the whiskey has flowed.
And the whole family tree you neglected to bury,
Are feeding their faces until they explode.
Chorus:
There’ll be laughter and tears over tia marias,
Mixed up with that drink made from girders.
cause it’s all we’ve got left as they draw their last breath,
And it’s nice for the kids, as you finally get rid of them,
In the st stephen’s day murders.
Uncle is garglin’ a heart-breaking air,
While the babe in his arms pulls out all that remains of his hair.
And we’re not drunk enough yet to dare criticize,
The great big kipper tie he’s about to baptize.
His gin-flavoured whiskers and kisses of sherry,
His best crimble shirt slung out over the shop.
While the lights from the christmas tree blow up the telly,
His face closes in like an old cold pork chop.
Alternate chorus:
And the carcass of the beast left over from the feast,
May still be found haunting the kitchen.
And there’s life in it yet, we may live to regret,
When the ones that we poisoned stop twitchin’.

bluemary — I think you forget that we are supposed be celebrating the birthday of a dirty f(cking hippie, born homeless to people who couldn’t find anything more than a barn in which to sleep and give birth.

The same dirty f(cking hippie that said, Love one another as I have loved you. The same guy who never really had a home as an adult, drifting from gig to gig, but who nonetheless taught us that peacekeepers and the poor in spirit are blessed among us.

Merry Christmas, bluemary. Hope you’re more mary than blue in the coming year.

Merry Christmass to you as well rayne, The same avatar
also taught to help the least among us, and we have failed
as a society to do that, while the media Commercializes
Christmass in his name. I hope things change now that we
finally voted these idiots out of office, I’m more hopefull
for that believe me. Happy holiday and have a great
new year

But when it gets too stressful and complicated, I prefer to unwind Hawaiian slack key guitar versions of the Christmas classics.

Mele kalikimaka, FirePups!