Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Here we are as in olden days

And hear the angel's something

Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel With dreidel I shall play

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

Taoists, Krishnas, Buddhists And all you atheists, too

That's why they're lame

Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel With dreidel I shall play

Okay, children, let's take our seats.

A Present For Santa

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

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

When Christmas leaves he must leave, too

Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel I made you out of clay

Sometimes he's nutty Sometimes he's corny

Let every heart prepare me room

That's why they're lame

And finally it does

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

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

Hello, everyone, and welcome to McKemicks.

O come ye to Bethlehem to see me

The stars are brightly shining

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

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

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

You know dasher and dancer and prancer and vixen

There's Princess Diana holding burning mistletoe