Twas the Month After Christmas
Twas the month after Christmas, and up at the Pole
The Big Man was baffled, still searching his soul,
His annual travels had seemed such a chore
And both belly and spirits hung low near the floor;
The elves all but vanished late Christmas Eve
To take full advantage of their five-week-leave,
Without a worry in the world they boarded Arctic Air Seeking tropical beauties with long brown hair
And the chance to breathe easy, away from the Boss, Who'd been bathing in egg nog since Gore's legal loss; -------------------------------------------
Santa, certainly, though he's based in the snow,
Is a man of the world, but not many folks know
He spends Aprils in Paris as famed Pere Noel
Studying toy fashion trends (which Barbies sell),
May business is books, and he keeps a low profile,
He slips on dark shades as he reads by the Nile,
Then he's back to the Mrs. for three months at most, Before heading on down to the Florida coast...
These Americans, he'd decided, consume all the year,
Day and night, non-stop, so he'd spend some time here
To know what's worth giving, or at least spot cheap trends,
He'd sweet talk the elves, set up shop, and then bend One or two U.S. rules to manufacture his bounty...
And who was hurt if he sunbathed in Palm Beach County?
So way back in '82 his second factory was built,
And production soon grew, but so did his guilt,
St. Nick said to himself, "I'm not selling the dolls,
I put up with their parades, and I mug in their malls,
I do special promos for their Big & Tall stores,
In fact, come November, I'm an advertising whore...
And I'm a legal alien with a Florida zip
So why should I give a flip about citizenship?"
The fact was he did, and in early '85,
He went down to the White House to lay down his jive,
He approached Ronnie Ray Gun and campaigned for hours,
"It's a perfect union, hell, we're both super powers With one small difference, we both have our charms,
Only I deal Legos and you deal arms;"
The actor couldn't argue so, slipping on a quote, Granted Santa life, liberty, and the pursuit of a vote,
Now the fat man in red, he did visibly wince,
He shook the fool's hand, voted Democrat since,
And everything was jolly until this November last,
When Katherine Harris and her cohorts dug up Santa's "sordid" past:
Father Christmas, we find, had his own Watergate
One dark December night, in fact Christmas, '68, Delivering in Dallas, he'd not one but two sacks,
And his eyes were as red as his fur coat and slacks, Nearing the mayor's mansion, his throat was quite dry, he got lost in the chimney (somehow still flying high),
As he filled the fine family's stockings of silk
It was clear he'd be craving more than cookies and milk;
Santa emptied the kitchen, then, chuckling with glee, Removed every candy cane from that colorful tree,
He fell fast asleep on the family room floor
With a Ho-Ho in his left hand and a roof-rattling snore;
The Mayor tip-toed downstairs with the optimistic hope,
That he'd have to use his shotgun (he'd had to retire the rope),
Thankfully, the cowboy knew no lawyer's misdirection Would excuse large holes in that red suit--there'd be no re-election,
Reluctantly he rambled off to call the good old boys
Who gladly grabbed the white beard's bags, the larger luckily filled with toys;
They woke Kris Kringle up, they hauled him off to court,
The judge there loved a hanging, considered it a sport
And tried to start a fire, where there was only smoke,
But possession isn't arson when the mighty take a toke,
That red suit, Judge lamented, if it was only green fur
Would warrant 10 to 20 years, instead of misdemeanor;
So the suit stayed sound, and the charge remained minor
Until several months ago when Kat Harris the hard-liner
Decided Bush must win the race by methods so obscene Brother Jeb, he did turn red, when they dyed the fat man green,
His suit, that is...many others found out election day
Their fashion sense was criminal, they would not get to play
In the process called democracy, and so the basic truth
Is that Santa didn't sit that day inside a voting booth.
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Santa and the Special Election Special-part 2by SantaClaus20012,421 views
Ben, you are more full of surprises than a picnic basket full of rabid wombats. This is clever and well done. Thanks for telling me about it Ben.
scatless 4 years ago
Thanks very much. Some of the lyrics are outdated, but I still had a lot of fun recording the music and the video. I'm hoping people listen carefully to the lyrics and enjoy how weird the video is :)
SantaClaus2001 4 years ago