This Christmas
My wishlist
Isn’t so much about the gettin
But the hope that I can give

Saint Nicholas
A gift that
Let’s him know how much we love him
If in fact he ever really even lived

Santa Claus, you are magic, but you also maybe weren’t real
And you slapped that guy
Who maybe shit himself to death, look it up
We didn’t cover it
But he allegedly shit himself to death
Here’s a drawing 

Santa Claus!
You saved the pickle boys
And did a bunch of other stuff
And now you’re bones
But even bones deserve some love
So here’s a song
From me to you
Santa Claus

You… you look like you want to sing?
Do you want to sing?

Thanks Professor for that sweet, sweet song
I was a real sourpuss but now I see that I’m wrong

The holiday season’s not the time for holding grudges
It’s a time for giving gifts and eatin cheese and tasty fudges

I’m ol’ Saint Nick and I’m here to say
I used to be a bishop but I’m bones today

Every year I bring joys and toys to kids
But frankly there’s lots of other things I did


Saint Nicholas saved the pickle boys
Ain’t ya heard? I saved the pickle boys
Sounds absurd n far fetched but you sure as shit can bet
That Saint Nicholas saved the pickle boys

Now what’d I do?
You save the pickle boys
The pickle who?
The pickle boys?
Who killed the butcher too?
Wait did you kill that butcher?

Ladies and gentlemen- recently barreled by a psychotic butcher
But resurrected by the clown prince of Christmas aka ME
PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR
THE PICKLE BOYYYYYS

Song For Santa

A stool of gold
A stool of gold
A stool of gold
A stool of gold
A stool of gold

A stool of gold
A stool of gold

A stool of gold
A stool of gold
A stool of gold
A stool of gold
A stool of gold
A stool of gold
A stool of gold

A Stool Of Gold

Burke and Hare

Blackbeard

A stone’s throw west of nowhere
They've got a golden crop they tend to grow there
Well it’s the sweetest treat
a six foot bird could ever eat
We’ll risk our necks
For a couple more pecks
Of your worthless wheat

Put up a fence and try to keep us out
We’ll plow right through it with balletic leaps and bounds
There’s no defense you’re raisin'
That’ll stop us from our grazin'
There's piles of wheat for
Em-you and me!

No pain, no grain
That’s the name of the game
We choose to chew
That’s how emu do
We snack, they attack
We run away then come right back
Try to kill me I dare you
Do it
DO IT

Shoot us,
Pursue us,
You can drive a truck right through us!
Riddle us with bullets
As we stuff our skinny gullets
Pop a slug right in my skull!
But not until my belly’s full
Kill my family, merc my friends
But the buffet will never end

And I commend you blokes for tryin'
But we simply have no fear of dyin’
It’s agricultural plunder
Until we’re six feet down under

One more time for all our dead rotting friends!

Shoot us,
Pursue us,
You can drive a truck right through us,
(No pain, no grain!)
Pump us full of lead
But make sure you aim for our wobbly heads
(We choose to chew)
There's pile of wheat for em-yooou and me!

Six Feet Down Under

Here left to lurch
Twixt two lovely swaying birch
Trees: Igor of Kiev
Husband to a wife
Who would face near any strife
To avenge his savage death

Olga
She murdered the whole town
We frankly are surprised
She hasn’t thought to chop us down

Olga
Sainthood she attained
But to cross her is to doom yourself
To join the countless maimed

She’ll off your family, Merc your friends
She’ll hunt your cat and dog and when
You think she’s finally calling it a day
She’ll catch you when you’re unaware
Pour acid down your underwear
And laugh because she’s jokerfied that way

She’ll lop your toes into a jar
And pack it up and mail it far
And on your grandma’s birthday she will find
A bloody box addressed to her
Containing nothing less than your
Ten piggies and she’ll lose her god damn mind

Olga
She may be a saint
But rightly pissed to see her sweetie
Split right up the taint

Olga
Legit she’s got no chill
Piss her off if you’d like
To experience being killed

She’ll simply make you poop your pants
That’s right she’ll make you poop your pants
And if you’re think that you won’t poop your pants
Just wait because you’ll poop your pants
Because she’ll make you poop your pants
And kill you once you’ve pooped your poopy pants

You’ll hear a knocking at the door
And when you ask who’s there to your
Relief it’s just your neighbor Joan Calhoun
You open up
IT’S OLGA! FUCK!
She’ll kick your shins and punch your nuts
Then skin you while she sings a happy tune

She’ll slit your throat like that one scene
In Gone Girl, know the one I mean
Where NPH is-- well, you get the gist
If it’s not clear the message here
Is if you hold existence dear
Make sure you don’t end up on Olga’s list

OLGA!

Window Song - Puppet History Season 5

Hippodrome Song - Puppet History Season 6

Horrible Histories - English Civil War Song

Horrible Histories - Patchacuti

Choo choo
I'm a train!
Choo choo
This is the song I sing!
Choo choo
All abooooooard!

Y’know it sucks to be a train
Luggin' normie losers through the cold and the rain
Same path, same track, same route
The monotony’s enough to make a choo choo POUT!

But then one day you catch a break
Gonna take a VIP to the Old Line State
Uh, who me? Yes you. But who?
Well I’ll tell you who-
The soon-to-be president of the
UUUUUUnited states.
They call him honest Abe.
He’s got a funny little beard
And he’s lanky and weird
But he sure knows just the words to say

But then some racist dipshits	
Took out a hit and chose to sit and wait-
For the man they call Abe
And robbed this lonely locomotive of a real exciting day

And then all of my choo choos
Turned into nothin but boohoos!

Boo hoo
Choo
Choo choo
Boo choo hoo hoo
Boo Hoo!
Choo boo hoo
Boo hoo hoo
Choo choo hoo
Boo hoo
Choo choo