“Psycho Visits Who-Ville” – Poetry

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PSYCHO VISITS WHO-VILLE
Rewrite of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas originally by Dr. Seuss

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

Every Who down in Who-Ville liked Christmas a lot…

But the Psycho, who took over the North Pole, Did NOT!

Psycho hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!

Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.

It could be that his head wasn’t screwed on quite right.

It could be, perhaps, that his dad beat him every Christmas night.

But I think that the most likely reason of all,

May have been that his heart never existed at all.

But, whatever the reason, His heart or his dads booze,

He sat there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos.

Thinking in his dark, winter castle with a sour, Grinchy frown,

About the ever festive Whos celebrating in their town.

For he knew every Who in Who-ville was busy now,

Hanging a mistleoe wreath with awe inspired wow.

“And they’re hanging their stockings!” he snarled with a sneer.

“Tomorrow is Christmas! It’s practically here!”

Then he growled, joined by his pet polar bear,

“I MUST find a way to kill Christmas forever! It ends here!”

For, tomorrow, he knew…

All the Who girls and boys would wake up bright and early.

They’d rush for their toys!

And then the noise!

Oh, the happy, gleeful, ear shattering noise!

That’s one thing he hated! He despised their happiness and joy!

Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a feast.

And they’d eat! And they’d scarf! It was a disgusting display, like beasts!

They would start on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast-beast,

Which was something our Psycho couldn’t stand in the least!

And THEN They’d do something he liked least of all!

Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,

Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.

They’d stand hand-in-hand, and the Whos would start singing!

They’d sing! And they’d sing! It was an angelic sound,

That made Psycho nauseous and caused his head to pound!

The more Psycho thought of the Who-Christmas-Sing,

The more he thought, “I must stop this whole thing!

“Why for thirty-three years I’ve put up with it now!

I MUST stop Christmas from coming! …But HOW?”

He thought killing Santa would help him succeed,

He killed the reindeer and destroyed the toy factory!

Still the Who’s in Who-Ville gathered,

As if none of those deaths mattered.

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!

PSYCHO CLAUSE GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

“I know just what to do!” Our Psycho laughed in his throat.

And he quickly grabbed Santa Clauses old hat and coat.

He chuckled, and clucked, “What a great evil trick!

With Santa’s magic, I can kill them all lickety split!

All I need is a reindeer…” Psycho looked around,

But since he killed all the reindeer, there was none to be found.

Did that stop Psycho Clause…? No! He simply said,

“If I can’t use a reindeer, I’ll use bears instead!”

So he called his polar bear Max, and asked him to grab his bear friends,

And he promised them all they could eat anyone with a Who head.

Then he loaded some deadly tools in some old red sacks,

On the magical sleigh and he hitched up old Max.

Then Psycho said, “Move out!” And the sleigh lifted from the ground,

Flying toward the homes where the Whos Lay a-snooze in their town.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.

All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care.

When he came to the first house in the square.

“This is stop number one,” Psycho Clause hissed,

And he climbed to the roof, weapon bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney. A a quiet entry point.

It’s how the Who’s expected Santa to enter the joint.

He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.

Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue.

Where the little Who stockings all hung in a row.

“These Who’s,” he grinned, “are going to be easy, I know.”

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,

Around the whole house, and he killed everyone present!

The little Who girl! And the little Who boy! Who mommy and daddy too!

They were stabbed! They were choked! The Who dog was even hacked into two!

And he stuffed the dog in the stockings over the chimney,

Then Psycho left that gory house, back up nimbly!

Then he went to the next Who house and he did the same thing!

He slaughted those who’s like a master, a king!

But just as he went to dish out yet another slash.

Why, the Grinch appeared, angry and brash!

“Hello Grinch,” Psycho said, “What do you say?

Do you still hate Christmas or have you gone gay?”

And the Grinch grabbed Psycho, and he yelled, “ENOUGH!”

And he started to shove Psycho as if he were tough.

Psycho turned around fast, and he grabbed for his blade!

Grinch saw this and demanded Psycho behave.

Psycho was lost to his bloody desires, and he charged the Grinch,

But the green fuzz ball was ready, he tossed Psycho threw the window like a wrench!

As the glass shattered and broke,

All the remaining Who’s of Who-Ville awoke.

But for the Who’s to come out, Max and his friends were patiently waiting,

And to the Who’s in the street they unleashed their rage and hating!

Psycho smiled, “You see, I’ve brought some friends to fight on my side”,

“It doesn’t worry me.” The Grinch then lied.

“The Who’s ran around screaming, being torn apart by the bears.

They were very efficient, without remorse or care.

The Grinch lunged at Psycho, but he was old and fat,

Psycho dodged him and made his attack.

From behind the Grinch, Psycho side stomped his knee,

And with a loud crunch the Grinch fell to the ground in misery!

Psycho then grabbed his hairy,  green arm and bent it back ’til it broke,

And he stomped on his shoulder and pulled the arm now blood soaked.

Still he continued until the socket gave way,

And the arm was removed by Psycho, ripped away.

The Grinch begged and cried for Psycho to just leave the town,

But to the request Psycho only frowned.

He stomped the Grinches head into a pulverized mess!

And in his victory he grinned and hollered, “YES!”

The Grinch laid in a Who-Ville street, broken and dead,

His green fur covered by Christmastime red.

Psycho looked around at the damage now done,

The polar bears, it seemed, also had fun.

Their snow white fur was now crimson colored,

The Who’s in the streets halfway devoured.

“Pooh-pooh to the Whos!” he was evilly humming.

“They found out no Christmas is coming!”

And so he called Max and the rest of the bears covered in gore,

Back to the sled so as to deliver more Christmas horror.

“There are still cities and towns who refuse to accept Santa’s dead,

We need to visit them all, chop off their heads!”

Psychos orders were given, and the polar bears complied,

Flying off into the cold winter sky.

Searching for more victims, who refuse to believe,

That Christmas is dead, it’s now Psychos Eve.”

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“Slaughter Bells” – Jingle

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SLAUGHTER BELLS
Jingle sung to the tune of “Silver Bells”

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

City sidewalks, empty sidewalks,
Dressed in holiday style.
In the air,
There’s a feeling,
Fear of something.
Children hiding,
People missing,
All around for miles and miles,
and on every street corner you’ll hear,

Slaughter bells, slaughter bells,
It’s murder time in the city.
Ring-a-ling, hear them scream,
“Nooo! PLEASE! Ahhhhhh! Stop! HELP!” they all say.

Strings of Christmas lights
Blinking green and white,
Reflect in the bloodstained snow.
As the survivors rush
home with heads hung low.

Hear their bones crunch,
With every power punch,
This is Psycho’s big scene,
And above all this bustle
You’ll hear

Slaughter bells, slaughter bells
It’s Murder time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them scream,
“He’s fucking here! RUN!!” they all say.

“We Wish You A Morbid Christmas” – Jingle

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WE WISH YOU A MORBID CHRISTMAS
Jingle sung along to the tune of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas”.

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

We wish you a Morbid Christmas,
We wish you a Morbid Christmas,
We wish you a Morbid Christmas and a Gory New Year.

Great agony we bring,
to you and your kin.
Great agony for Christmas,
and a Gory New Year.

Oh, bring us a begging victim,
Oh, bring us a begging victim,
Oh, bring us a begging victim,
and one paralyzed by fear.

Refrain!

We won’t go until we kill someone,
We won’t go until we kill someone,
We won’t go until we kill someone, so get the fuck out here!

Refrain!

Great agony we bring,
to you and your kin.
Great agony for Christmas,
and a Gory New Year.

We all know Psycho Claus’s coming,
We all know Psycho Claus’s coming,
We all know Psycho Claus’s coming,
And soon will be here.

We wish you a Morbid Christmas;
We wish you a Morbid Christmas,
We wish you a Morbid Christmas,
and a Gory New Year.

“Twas The Night Before Christmas” – Poetry

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TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
A murderous rewrite of the original “Twas The Night Before Christmas”.

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

‘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;

But in the children’s room hiding under their beds,

Was a seasonal Psycho looking to chop off their heads;

And mamma in her nighty, and papa in his cap,

Had no idea they were falling into the Psychos trap,

Our psycho you see, was mad as a hatter,

He only wanted to watch the blood make a splatter.

Out from under the bed, he appeared in a flash,

And with his wood axe he made the first slash.

The small child was instantly killed by the blow,

His head rolled down to the carpet below,

When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,

The other child sleeping soundly, without worry or fear,

He raised the axe again, and the child’s death was quick,

He looked down at the head, and gave it a kick.

Sooner than our Psycho expected, the parents then came,

And they screamed and shouted, as our Psycho tried to explain;

“Now, please! Just listen! I have an addiction!

It’s the blood you see, there is no description!

I love its color and texture, I like watching heads fall!

And now I will kill you, your neighbors and all!”

Papa reacted quickest, down the hall he did fly,

Where he was meet with an obstacle, another bad guy,

And from his pocket our second psycho then drew,

A large hunting knife, all shiny and new.

This psycho was planning to slice the victims neck,

But papa ran down the stairs and out to the front deck.

Our psycho was quicker this time around,

And he caught the papa before he could utter a sound.

Papa fought back, kicking the intruder with his bare foot,

But into papa’s chest that shiny knife psycho did put;

Over and over psycho stabbed and attacked,

Until papa laid still and stopped fighting back.

Pstchos eyes –how they twinkled! The sight of red made him merry!

And back inside the house papa’s corpse he did carry!

The first psycho was busy watching mamas blood flow,

Out her headless neck, as a blood puddle did grow;

He had an idea, and as he thought he mashed his teeth,

He would place her head in the center of the front doors wreath;

He kicked her head down the stairs, hitting his friend in the belly,

They laughed together, shaking like a bowlful of jelly.

They positioned the head, giggling at their display,

And to the next house they went without delay;

They entered one through the window, one through the door,

Soon the neighbors heads would too be rolling on the floor;

They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,

Finding hiding spaces for each of them to lurk,

This family too died when our psychos knife and axe rose,

They never knew that in their house were two dangerous foes;

Once the entire neighborhood laid dead, the two began to whistle,

And they disappeared from the area as quick as a missile.

The two left a message behind, written in red against white,

“A Bloody Christmas to all, and to all a killer-night.”

“Psycho Christmas Alphabet” – Poetry

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PSYCHO’S CHRISTMAS ALPHABET

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

A is for ARTIFICIAL trees with ANGEL toppers we oppose,

is for BLOOD, BRIGHT red like Christmas BOWS.

is for COAL, taking CHILDREN’S hopes and CHRISTMAS CHEER,

is for DECEMBER the most DEPRESSING DAYS of the year.

is for EVIL ELVES and poisoning the EGGNOG,

is for FESTIVE FEASTS, and people stuffing their FACES like hogs.

is for GHOSTS of victims once covered in GRISLY GORE,

is for HOPE, destroyed by Psychos HO-HO HORROR.

is for ICICLES, the IDEAL weapon to use,

is for JACK Frost, JOLLY in his kills and abuse.

is for KRIS KRINGLE, KILLED by Psycho one day,

is for LIGHTS, and hanging victims in the LOVELY display.

is for MISTLETOE, the perverts and MOLESTERS favorite tool,

is for the NORTH Pole, which Psycho NOW rightfully rules.

is for ORNAMENTS, made of hearts, lungs, livers, not an ORGAN is spared,

is for PSYCHO, denying you PRESENTS, PEACE, or PRAYER.

is for QUESTIONS, unanswered with smart QUIRKS added,

is for RUDOLPH, the REINDEER gone RABID.

is for SLEIGH rides in the SNOW, and SLAYING others along the way,

is for TOYS, with TOMMY guns, knives, and TOMAHAWKS we play.

is for UGLY sweaters, worn while UNWRAPPING USELESS gifts, tossing them like salad.

is for VIGILANTE VENDETTAS and VALUES most VALID.

is for WINTER WONDERLAND, snow WHITE splashed WITH red.

is for XMAS, the night Psycho made Santa dead.

is for YOU and me, dancing in YESTERDAY’S ruins YELLING “YAY!”

is for ZOOMING over ZOMBIES in a magical sleigh.

“Murder In A Winter Wonderland” – Jingle

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MURDER IN A WINTER WONDERLAND
Jingle sung along to the tune of “Winter Wonderland”.

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

Ear piercing screams, are you listening,

In the snow, blood is glistening.

A gruesome sight,

We’re killing tonight,

Murder in a Winter Wonderland.

“Please! Stop!” is the plea words,

“Not this time” is our response words,

For your suffering we long,

As we slash-n-cut along,

Murder in a Winter Wonderland.

In the meadow we can kill a rich man,

Then use his blood to paint him like a clown.

He’ll say, “I’ll give you money!” we’ll say, “No man,

But you can die before we bomb the town.”

Later on, we’ll conspire,

As to the bomb by the fire,

To face unafraid,

The plans that we’ve made,

Murder in a Winter Wonderland.

There’s more screams, are you listening,

In the snow, blood is glistening,

A gruesome sight,

We’re happy tonight,

Murder in a Winter Wonderland.

“I won’t tell!” is the plea words,

“We know,” is our response words,

For your demise we long,

As we slice right along,

Murder in a Winter Wonderland.

In the meadow we can kill a poor man,

And watch as the red hits the snowy ground.

We’ll have lots of fun with mister poor man,

Cause here there’s no one else around.

When he cries, ain’t it thrilling,

Though his screams are kinda chilling

We’ll torture him all day,

For it’s the Psycho way,

Murder in a Winter Wonderland.

Murder in a Winter Wonderland,

Murder in a Winter Wonderland.

“Psycho Letters: To & From Santa” – Short Story

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PSYCHO LETTERS: TO & FROM SANTA

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

 

Dear Santa,

I know I’m not always good, but I really try to be. You never stopped by my house when I was a child. I know I may be too old to write you letters, but this one is important.

I want love. My mother died when I was born, I never got the chance to know her. My father blamed me for her death and became abusive, I’m sure you already know.

He beat me with a bag of coals one Christmas morning, screaming that I was naughty, the spawn of Satan. That can’t possibly be true.

He said no one would ever love me, and I’m starting to believe he was right. Please send me someone who can understand me and love me for who I am. Christmas is always such a lonely, depressing time of year. It would really mean the world to me.

With love,

Psycho

Dear Psycho,

You are by far the most naughty person on my list. Just last week you shot two people, stabbed three more, and raped a nun during mass! The list of naughty deeds you’ve done this year alone stretches clear across the North Pole.

Don’t try and use the pity game, I’m always watching to see who’s naughty or nice. Your father beat you with the coals on Christmas because he woke to the cat in the microwave (or what was left of the stinky mess), and the dogs head under the Christmas tree!

No one but the Devil himself can understand you, but even he isn’t capable of loving a monster like yourself. There is no love for your murderous kind, only hate and pain.

Sincerely,

Santa

Dear Santa,

Fuck you ya fat fuck! I was trying to be fucking nice you jolly old bastard, but no! You had to go and deny me my deepest desire. I came to you humble, on my figurative knees, and you pissed in my face!

I’m coming for you Santa. I’ll be at the North Pole shortly. When I get there, I’m going to blow your fucking toy factory sky high! I’ll trap you freaky elves inside and dance while their severed body parts rain down!

Your reindeer; Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donnor, Blitzen, and Rudolph. Consider them dinner. I’ll turn their hides into rugs and blankets, and I’ll mount their heads on my wall like trophies.

Oh, and your bitch wife, don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about her. I’ll make her my sex slave, tie her to the bed and do what I want. I have a knife fetish, hope she’s tough. *wink wink*

You’ll be there too, for a while. I’ll let you watch from a cage while your fat ass slowly starves to death.

I’ll burn your precious North Pole, melt the ice caps and turn the snow into a river. I won’t stop until you watch me destroy everything you hold dear.

Fuck you,

Psycho

In the North Pole, Santa has just read Psychos letter.

“Hunny! Mrs. Clause! We’ve gotta go!”

“We can’t go Santa. Christmas is in three days. What about the children?” Mrs. Clause pouts.

“Listen dear. Screw the children. Remember that naughty guy I told you about? Psycho?”

“Yes, why?”

“I may have made him a tad upset, he’s coming here.” Santa explains.

“I’ll just go grab my coat.” Mrs. Clause answers as she hurries away, fear in her voice.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Santa goes to the door to see who it could be. When he opens it, he is paralyzed with terror. He is face to face with Psycho, black smoke rising in the distance where the toy factory should be.

“Hello Santa,” Psycho muses, “Remember me?”

“Psycho Goes To The North Pole” – Short Story

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PSYCHO GOES TO THE NORTH POLE

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

“Hello Santa,” I quipped, “Remember me?”

Santa stood in the doorway, mouth gaping, his rosy cheeks drained of color. Yes, he remembered me.

His eyes drifted off onto the horizon, where the toy factory once stood. I twisted sideways to follow his gaze, and saw the coal black smoke rising into the winter white sky.

“Oh yes,” I chimed while turning back around to face him, “The elves were very easy to dispatch of. They were so busy making toys, they didn’t notice the doors and windows shut one by one, or the sounds of them being hammered on and nailed down. They didn’t expect the explosion …” my voice drifted off as my face contorted at the memory, “there wasn’t much left to dance in when they rained back down. It was mostly a warm, sticky, red mist.”

Santa swallowed, his adams apple moving up and down as he did. I smirked at his reaction, enjoying his moment of unknown fear. Soon, he would know what to be afraid of.

I shoved the jolly old bastard back into the house, he was heavier than me but lazy and unathletic, and so he stumbled over and fell to the floor. I laughed at the sight, and stood over top of him with a bag of coal.

“You. Have. Been. Very. Naughty.” I spoke as I hit him with the bag over and over again.

Santa started bleeding from a gash on his head, staining his snow white hair. Still I did not stop, and eventually the beating was too much for Mr. Clause, and he fell into unconsciousness.

As I was standing there, admiring my handy work, Mrs. Clause came out of a room and round the corner. She wore her winter coat, red with white fur trim, and was fussing with her dainty black leather gloves.

“Santa, how long do you think we have before Psy-” her words caught in her throat as she looked up from her hands to see me standing over her battered husband, a bag of coal firmly in my grip.

I dropped the bag with a loud thump and turned towards her.

“Well well Mrs. Clause, don’t you look ravishing.” I cooed.

Fear filled her eyes as she turned to dart to the other side of the house. She was slow however, her age working against her. I caught the elderly woman easily from behind, pulling her close to my chest and holding her there. She tried to thrash her way from my grip, but it was no use.

“Shh..” I whispered into her ear, “This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

I left Mrs. Clause chained to the large bed, and Mr. Clause inside a cage facing her. I wanted him to feel my pain and hopelessness, and so I would wait for him to wake before starting the fun.

While I waited, I went out to the stable with my shotgun. I came prepared for this adventure, and brought many fun “toys” of my own to the North Pole.

The reindeer were all in separate stalls, each bedded down in a pile of fresh hay. As I walked down the rows, shooting them in the heart or lungs, they became panicky. There was no escape, but still they threw themselves against the thick wooden gates of their enclosures. The ruckus they made filled the air around, but with each pull of the trigger the stable became quieter, until they all laid dead.

I cut off each of their heads, and threw them into a wheelbarrow to take up to the house so I could show Santa what’d become of his precious pets. I’d decided against eating them, thought it was best to let them rot.

Inside the house Santa was awake. The doorways were wide, due to Santa’s size, so the wheelbarrow rolled through the house and into the room with ease.

I pushed the wheelbarrow inside with great force, hitting the edge of the bed. The wheelbarrow tipped sideways and the nine reindeer heads dumped onto the floor.

Santa immediately puked at the sight, filling the room with its sour smell. He looked pale as a ghost when he slumped back in the cage. I smiled at the sight, and grabbed the head with the beaming red nose. I shoved my arm up the creatures neck, using him like a puppet. Tilting him back and forth in the air, I walked closer to Santa in the cage.

“Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose, and if you ever saw him, you would even say it glows.” I sang while walking closer.

At the last line the deer was positioned next to his head, and the tongue fell out of the beasts mouth, slapping Santa in the face. He puked once more, and I laughed loudly as he did. Dropping Rudolph next to him, I approached the bed.

“Now Mrs. Clause, I haven’t forgotten about you.” I cooed.

“Don’t! Please, I can help you! I’ll help you!” Santa begged and pleaded.

I ignored him, for the time being. Slowly I cut Mrs. Clauses winter coat away, and threw it at Santa’s cage. Both were weeping at that point, but I ignored it too. Next came her gloves, I carefully slid the razor sharp blade through the soft leather, being sure not to cut her skin.

“Psycho please! You don’t need to do this. Let me help you!” Santa cried.

I yanked Mrs. Clauses shiny black boots off her feet, and they hit the floor with a thud. Slowly I slid the knife up her middle toe and inner leg, cutting her pants as I did. The blade sliced through only the first couple layers of her wrinkled skin, leaving behind a faint red trail.

I watched her face contort as tears broke out of her tightly closed eyelids, flowing down her cheeks. I grinned shyly, and bent down low, rubbing my nose against hers.

“This might hurt a bit lovely.” I whispered.

I thrusted the knife into her center. She gasped at the pain, but couldn’t move away from it. I ripped the blade free and plunged it into her torso once, twice, three times. The last time I raised the knife I plowed it into the side of her neck, pulled out, and nearly decapitated poor Mrs. Clause.

Santa screamed as the blood sprayed from her neck, painting me red. I raised my arms up and out to my sides, tilted my head back, and enjoyed the warm spray of revenge.

I turned towards Santa, grinning from ear to ear. As I walked out of the room, leaving the gory mess behind to decay along with him, I turned around and said,

‘You can starve now Mr. Clause, I’m taking over Christmas this year.”

“Deck The Halls” – Jingle

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DECK THE HALLS
Jingle sung along to the tune of “Deck The Halls”

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

 

Deck the halls with all that’s unholy,
Fa la la la la la la la!

‘Tis the season to act illegally,
Fa la la la la la la la!

Wearing now blood soaked apparel,
Fa la la la la la la la!

Sing psychotic Christmas carols,
Fa la la la la la la la!

See the blazing homes before us,
Fa la la la la la la la!

Strike the weak and join the chorus,
Fa la la la la la la la!

Follow me in morbid measure,
Fa la la la la la la la!

While I tell of a killers treasure,
Fa la la la la la la la!

Fast away our victim’s life passes,
Fa la la la la la la la!

Hail Psycho Claus, ye lads and lasses,
Fa la la la la la la la!

Sing, “we’re murderous” all together!
Fa la la la la la la la!

Celebrate insanity now and forever,
Fa la la la la la la la!

“12 Days Of Christmas” – Jingle

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12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS
Jingle sung to the tune of “12 Days Of Christmas”

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

On the first day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

A Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the second day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the third day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the fourth day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the fifth day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

5 CELEBRITIES!

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the sixth day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

6 Campers Camping,

5 CELEBRITIES!

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the seventh day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

7 Sisters Shopping,

6 Campers Camping,

5 CELEBRITIES!

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the eighth day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

8 Bums a Begging,

7 Sisters Shopping,

6 Campers Camping,

5 CELEBRITIES!

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the ninth day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

9 Strippers Dancing,

8 Bums a Begging,

7 Sisters Shopping,

6 Campers Camping,

5 CELEBRITIES!

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the tenth day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

10 Nuns a Praying,

9 Strippers Dancing,

8 Bums a Begging,

7 Sisters Shopping,

6 Campers Camping,

5 CELEBRITIES!

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the eleventh day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

11 Pimps out Pimping,

10 Nuns a Praying,

9 Strippers Dancing,

8 Bums a Begging,

7 Sisters Shopping,

6 Campers Camping,

5 CELEBRITIES!

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.

On the twelfth day of Christmas our Psycho killed with glee:

12 Boy Bands Singing,

11 Pimps out Pimping,

10 Nuns a Praying,

9 Strippers Dancing,

8 Bums a Begging,

7 Sisters Shopping,

6 Campers Camping,

5 CELEBRITIES!

4 Law Officers,

3 French Maids,

2 Teens in Love,

And a Man Begging Down on His Knees.