Cuz my friend is a whitey, and I'm indian we make fun of each other and thought we should bring it to x-mas songs too This one though, is just about [deep indian voice] My People [/indian] I know it blows, but, I'm not my most creative when I try not to pass out in french class :tongue: 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, When a man snuck through their window, his skin was red; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, That didn't stop the indian, there were two quick snaps, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, The indians couldn't keep their chants a quiet mutter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, But it was too late, they were already smoking my grass. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow The many red skins had come and go, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, Too bad I couldn't help Ol' Saint Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, Many more came to kill the fat man and take over his sleigh; "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, There was a tomahawk headed for the jolly old guy, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, Avoiding the red skin hate that he knew. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof One indian alone against eight sets of hooves. As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, I saw eight reindeer drop to the ground. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, He got an awfully bad feeling in his gut; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, As he yelled "I'll stomp you with my big lumpy sack". His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! You could tell this man knows his enemy! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, He taunted the indian, now he wanted some peace; He had a broad face and a little round belly, His eyes were now darker than any chimney. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, Too bad he has zero tolerance for colors other than himself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, He whipped out a luger and shot em dead; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, He sent a signal to the other foes ; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, They could hardly move but they shot like a missle. I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Next year, indians, we finish this fight" Official Lyrics http://www.christmas-tree.com/stories/nigh...echristmas.html
Hahah yes, very wtf indeed I changed some of it since I thought some younger people would be offended
I'm white and I say indian and I have plenty of native friends haha they don't care, I live 15 mins from one rez, 45 from another an hour from a diff one, and there is plenty more around
Hahah, well, some small pox events said otherwise *POCKET SMALL POX IN THE FACE* you know what I mean we need to invent Big Pox now. DOMINATION
