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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
Howdy ho
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
Howdy ho!
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
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