by Charley James and others
T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a pundit was stirring, not one single louse.
The scapegoats were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that Ol’ Bill-O soon would be there.
The folks were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of bailouts danced in their heads.
And Drudge in his ‘kerchief, Brook’s head in his lap
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
Unknowns they filled in, just minding the store
Hoping a syndicator might need one more whore.
The Lords of Loud were taking a break
Heavy lifting for sure, this spreading of hate.
When out from my speakers arose such a clatter
I first thought of Rushbo, just getting fatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Had Palin returned, just being an ash?
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh, fueled by slander and fear.
For a moment it appeared George was pushing more war
Wait, isn’t that what the No-spinster is for?
With a big old neck, and a voice so ugly and shrill
I knew in a moment it must be St. Bill.
More rapid than vultures, out talking points came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now Coulter! Now, Morris! Now Wiehl and Malkin!
On Goldberg! On, Hannity! On Miller and Ingraham!
Brought in to help to spread his disease
Accusing all with whom Bill disagrees.
He was nasty and plump, with no semblance of class.
And I laughed when I saw him, pulling facts from his ass.
He spoke not a truth, but went straight to his work
And made up a war; boy what a jerk,
Blame Soros, Blame Franken, Blame Moyers and Keith
Blame Krugman, Blame Sheehan, Blame San Fran and Me-th
Damn Rachel, Chris Matthews, and probably you
Blame anything spelled A-C-L-U.
Blaming kids for their rape by a kidnapping drone
Harassing producers he falafels by phone.
Jolly St Bill has no sense of shame
It?s ludicrous lyrics and France who’re to blame.
No ego is larger than fills Ol’ St Bill,
Blaming secular progressives for all the world’s ill.
Divisive, derisive, humanity’s bane
Those who believe him must be insane.
I just have one question of Christ on His day
If He’s real and can hear me then what would He say?
About dear Old Billy and all of his spins,
Did Jesus die for O’Reilly’s sins?
What a waste if He did, for Bill hasn’t learned
Scapegoating and lying leads to getting you burned.
And handing out gifts that are meant just for hatin’
Make him no better a Christian than Hitler or Satan.
But Bill listens to but one Lord and one Saviour
For he thinks he is God, his own favourite flavour.
And I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“I’ll be eating in Harlem where they act just like white.
