December 23, 2003, 1:01 a.m.
Sing-Along-a-Derb
Merry Holiday!

As readers of our print magazine will be aware, Holiday is upon us. A bulletin from the U.S. Congress has announced the arrival and erection of the annual Holiday Tree on Capitol Hill. We are all bustling about doing our Holiday shopping, sending out our Holiday cards, and decorating our own Holiday trees. But what would Holiday be without a family singalong round the old upright piano?

Here are some of my own personal favorites, both seasonal and general, spruced up to make them suitable for our tolerant, inclusive, sensitive age. Merry holiday! And Supreme Court bless us every one.

God Rest ye Merry Democrats
(Traditional)
God rest ye merry Democrats
Let nothing you dismay.
For George Soros your savior
Is here with cash today!
To buy you all more TV ads —
Don't worry, George will pay!
O-oh, tidings of fundraising joy,
Fundraising joy!
O-oh, tidings of fundraising joy.

Mad Dogs and Neocons
(after Noel Coward)
Mad dogs and neocons wage war in the Middle East.
The Germans just don't care to, the French would never dare to,
In Luxembourg and Amsterdam they don't care in the least;
But neocons all hate a dictator.
China's PLA just waits for the day they can massacre students and monks;
While Kim Jong Il has orders to fill — without cash from his nukes, he's sunk.
In Istanbul the only rule is to keep the Kurds policed,
But mad dogs and neocons wage war in the Middle East.

Mad dogs and neocons wage war in the Middle East.
The Democrats would much prefer if to the U.N. we'd defer;
The ACLU want the motley crew at Guantanamo released —
But, please, no order on the border.
The paleo crowd will applaud out loud anyone who torments Jews;
A pogrom or a human bomb is easy to excuse.
At the New York Times talk of Bush's "crimes" has hardly ever ceased.
But mad dogs and neocons wage war in the Middle East.

The Seven Days of Kwanzaa
(Traditional)
On the first day of Kwanzaa my true love gave to me
A hook-up to BET.

On the second day of Kwanzaa my true love gave to me
Two slots at Yale,
And a hook-up to BET.

On the third day of Kwanzaa my true love gave to me
Three profiling protests,
Two slots at Yale,
And a hook-up to BET.

On the fourth day of Kwanzaa my true love gave to me
Four Baraka poems,
Three profiling protests,
Two slots at Yale,
And a hook-up to BET.

On the fifth day of Kwanzaa my true love gave to me
Five votes for Al!
Four Baraka poems,
Three profiling protests,
Two slots at Yale,
And a hook-up to BET.

On the sixth day of Kwanzaa my true love gave to me
Six insults to Thomas,
Five votes for Al!
Four Baraka poems,
Three profiling protests,
Two slots at Yale,
And a hook-up to BET.

On the seventh day of Kwanzaa my true love gave to me
Seven Jackson shake-downs,
Six insults to Thomas,
Five votes for Al!
Four Baraka poems,
Three profiling protests,
Two slots at Yale,
And a hook-up to BET.

O Come All Ye Faithful
(Adeste Fidelis)
O come, all ye faithful,
Take your Ten Commandments,
Hide them, O hide them
Where no-one will see.
If you believe in
Absolute morality —
Then you're just too judgmental,
Your faith's too fundamental,
Your rock so monumental
Has no place in here!

Deck the Halls
(Traditional)
Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Sing of Michael Jackson's folly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Dons he soon his jail apparel,
Fa la la, fa la la, fa la la.
The DA's got him over a barrel!
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

The Battle Hymn of the Multicultural Republic
(Apologies to Julia Ward Howe)
Mine eyes have never noticed any difference at all —
Black, brown, or white; gay, bi, or straight; or thin or fat or tall;
Male, female, or transsexual — they're constructions soci-al:
We must celebrate each one.
Glory, glory, there's no difference!
Yet still, we'd better give some preference.
To enrich our own learning experience,
Till critical mass is here.

We're stamping out all images of Christianity,
That religion of colonialists, of war and slavery.
To faiths of every other sort there's none more kind than we;
So let them all come in!
Christians have no special standing.
Moslem numbers are expanding.
Flight-school lessons they're demanding —
Sharia law is here!

Ten million illegals? — Oh, what need for any fuss?
Let's give them driver's licenses — they're just as good as us.
In fact, they're slightly better, for they're more industrious.
Who else will mow our lawns?
Down with dull assimilation!
We're a multicultural nation!
Celebrate the transformation!
Diversity is here!

Word! da White-Boy Rapper Sings
(To the tune of "Hark! the Herald Angels Sing")
Word! da white-boy rapper sings
Of bitches, ho's, an' homie t'ings.
He one cool s***-kickin' mutha
Got mo' fans than any brutha.
Now he's called for Bush's slayin' —
Thass too much, kna wha' I'm sayin'?
Anyway, they's took his heat —
Fool's defenseless on da street.
Word! da white-boy rapper sings —
Suburban teens all think he's king.