Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Taoists, Krishnas, Buddhists And all you atheists, too

That's why they're lame

Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel I made you out of clay

Hello, everyone, and welcome to McKemicks.

There's Princess Diana holding burning mistletoe

And finally it does

And hear the angel's something

Sometimes he's nutty Sometimes he's corny

Let every heart prepare me room

- I'm gonna chop off you're legs! - No, you idiot!

Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel With dreidel I shall play

O come ye to Bethlehem to see me

The stars are brightly shining

After he has sex with it He'll eat up all he can

Maybe we'll have ourselves a little Christmas right here.

When Christmas leaves he must leave, too

Here we are as in olden days

But now for our next song, hold on to your boot straps,

That's right, Santa, and we love each and every one of them.

That's why they're lame

A Present For Santa

Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel With dreidel I shall play

You know dasher and dancer and prancer and vixen

Okay, children, let's take our seats.

Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

And, my dear, we're still good-bye-be-de bye-ing

And so you shake your ass around and try to get it to drop in the toilet