Some zombies caught diseases
That made them long for brains.
Some are raised by the magic
That a necromancer trains.
Some become a zombie for
No reason we can see
But most zombies decided
To major in sociology.
If you’re ever taking a walk
And you’re an amateur mime named Jean-Jacques
You’d be an unlucky bloke
If you had a stroke
But oh, how the viewers would talk!
When Jesus was a baby,
Two or three years maybe,
He probably had a phase of asking “why?”
“Why was I born a Jew?”
“Why’re the sky and water blue?”
“Why don’t wise men ever bring me pie?”
And I’m inspired by Mary,
As her baby she did carry
For It must take considerable skill
To look at Baby God
With a motherly sort of nod
And answer him “Because it is your will.”
God made twelve hours of light and dark
In an alternating way
Then sat a while
And with a smile
Decided to call it a day.
I think that women’s basketball
And the WNBA
Deserve credit for helping
So many girls admit they’re gay.
But when they start demanding
More fair and equal pays
It behooves them to remember
That you can’t have both these days.
See, the typical NBA guy
Eats 2,000 pounds per day
Is 12 feet tall and has a trunk
And their skin is tough and gray.
The typical WNBA-er
Is about the same, you see
Except no one will pay to see her
‘Cause she’s only five-foot-three.
At one game we ask “do you think
“Shaquille can dunk on Mike?”
At the other game we wonder
“You think that one’s not a dyke?”
But if you score a hundred points
In every single game
And hire a player anyone
Would recognize by name
And sell out any contest
Then we’ll pay you like Jeff Teague.
Until you do, just be content
That you still have a league.
My neighbor has a rose garden
That he’s tended all his life
Which really makes you wonder:
Just how angry is his wife?
Today we drink and wear green clothes
And that’s just about it.
I hope I’ve helped to illustrate
Why this holiday is shit.