A "politically correct" version of "deck the halls with bows of holly".
Approved by the Labour Party and the Muslim Council of Great Britian.
Deck the halls with boughs of non-endangered plant species
Fa la la la la, la la la la
'Tis the season to be self-actualizing,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Don we now our alternate-lifestyle apparel
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Toll the ancient non-denominational-winter-solstice-holiday carol
Fa la la la la, la la la la
See the blazing log of non-denominational-winter-solstice-holiday-non-endangered wood before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Play the harp without unnecessary brutality and join the chorus
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Sing we emotionally stable in a collective group effort,
Fa la la la la la la la la
Heedless of the weather patterns despite the effects of global warming,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Fast away the mature year passes
Fa la la la la la la la la
Hail the new year without any implicit ageism, ye persons
Fa la la la la la la la la
Dance in a non-hierarchical manner in merry measure,
Fa la la la la la la la la
While I tell of non-materialistic, non-denominational-winter-solstice-holiday
treasure,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Massive respect to the composer.
Thal
Or maybe even
The Tony and the Gordon,
When they are so full-blown,
Of all the prats that are in the House
The Gordon takes the crown.
The rising legislation
And the running up of tax,
The playing up of merry cronies
Sweet stabbings in the backs.
The Tony bears an image
As white as the lily flower
But it’s totally discredited
So he’s soon to lose all power.
Oh, the rising legislation
And the running up of tax,
The playing up of merry cronies
Sweet stabbings in the backs.
The Tony bears all Blairites
As pink as any blood,
But he’s giving way to sour Gordon Brown
Who will drown us all in mud.
Oh, the rising legislation
And the running up of tax,
The playing up of merry cronies
Sweet stabbings in the backs.
The Tony bears a prickle,
As blunt as last year’s corn,
While Gordon waits – sweet Jesus Christ –
Until old Tony’s gorn.
Oh, the rising legislation
And the running up of tax,
The playing up of merry cronies
Sweet stabbings in the backs.
The Tony bears a bark,
That shows his utter gall,
To let Gordon Brown be foisted on us
And ruin Britons all.
Oh, the rising legislation
And the running up of tax,
The playing up of merry cronies
Sweet stabbings in the backs.
The days of old New Labour
Are well (un)truly done,
And of all the twits waiting in the wings
We’ll have David Cameron.
Oh, the rising up in protest
And the running from UK
To Spain or France, or the Caribbean –
Thank God we got away!
Best,
Alistair