Werewolf-themed Christmas carols.
Dec. 24th, 2005 08:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ferine(all lyrics written 1992 by Jacob Williamson)
I'm Dreaming of a White Werewolf
(Sung to the tune of "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas")
The Pack's arriving, the moon is high,
The Alpha male's come to play,
but why do I have to stay
With ebony, tan or grey?
Though many fine wolves are near,
There's but one werewolf I want here...
I'm dreaming of a white werewolf,
Just like the one I used to know--
With fur, soft and pale,
A proud, noble tail,
And eyes with a strange blue glow...
I'm dreaming of a white werewolf,
With every passing full moon night.
Though the pack hierarchy is tight,
May the pelt of the next lone wolf
Be white.
Lobo, The Werewolf
(Sung to the tune of "Frosty, the Snowman")
Lobo, the werewolf, was a rabid soul, of late--
With blood-stained paws, and foam-flecked jaws,
And two eyes that burned with hate.
Lobo, the werewolf, was an old wive's tale, they said--
But the children knew, as did those two
Who would later turn up dead.
Their final hope might have lain in
That silver chain they found...
But those two schmucks put it round his neck,
Then their heads rolled on the ground.
Oh, Lobo, the werewolf, felt a pain of a high grade,
But he couldn't grasp that silver clasp--
It was lodged behind his shoulder blade.
He rampaged through the sleepy town,
Mauling shop after shop, And he only paused a moment to
Dismember a traffic cop.
Oh, Lobo, the werewolf, could have crushed the town that day--
But the townfolk hired a masked guy from
The Lone Ranger one-act play.
Oh, Thump.
(That's it, really. Once the protagonist hits the ground with a thump, you can't go much further, from a poetry point-of-view, can you?)
God Rest ye Merry, Lycanthropes
Sung to the tune of "God rest ye Merry, Gentlemen")
God rest ye merry, lycanthropes
Let nothing bother you--
Remember that the wolvesbane all
Died out in '42.
The werewolf hunter's stuck at home,
Suffering with the flu--
[Refrain]
The world is yours,
When the full moon rises high,
Rises high,
The world's yours when the full moon rises high.
Electrum came in vogue last year--
The silver's almost gone.
The only blessed weapons are on Hock at E-Z Pawn.
In short, there's nothing here to stop
A lycanthropic throng,
[refrain]
Half of mankind is infected--
Werecreatures. One and all.
The rest are used for excercise,
Or mounted to a wall.
It might be fun to sit and watch
Civilization fall
[refrain]
Maybe together humans and
Werewolves could play and run,
Without strife and hostility,
Relating one-on-one.
Living together, happily,
But dammit, that's not fun!
[refrain]
Have Yourself a Slightly Furry Christmas
(Sung to the tune of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas")
Have yourself a slightly furry Christmas,
Let the Moon shine in.
Just make sure you don't
Commit a mortal sin...
Hands extend and turn into paws,
Breaking Nature's laws,
You see
Profound thoughts are revealed quite soon,
Under a full moon,
Running Santa up
A tree...
Chasing off the little
Avon lady
With a rumbling growl.
Joining with your family in a rising howl,
And have Yourself A Slightly furry Christmas,
Now.
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
(Sung to the tune of--what else? "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear")
It came upon a midnight clear,
Form framed against the sky,
With glist'ning teeth and dark grey fur,
Perhaps seven feet high.
All of the shepherds rose to see--
Its howls brough them from sleep.
What could we do but stand and watch?
It left with seven sheep.
Days passed, numbering twenty-eight,
We'd not seen that beast since,
Nothing's poorer than shepherds, but
Those sheep belonged to the prince.
And now, we sleep, the night seems safe,
Four weeks since it last came,
And Joe stands guard over the flock,
Watching the bonfire's flame.
And then, of course, the beast came back,
Perhaps some lamb to take.
The sheep stampeded in a herd,
Leaving Joe in their wake.
Not quite a mastiff, almost man,
Fur pelt from head to toe,
Leaving us without sheep or guard--
The huge thing borrowed Joe.
It's been a month since that beast came,
A month since we lost Joe,
But I heard two things howl last night,
I've no sheep left to go. I think that I'll not stay, although
There's nothing shepherds fear--
The prince has asked for his sheep back--
I hear Rome's nice this year...
Oh, Little Town of Lycanthropes
(Sung to the tune of "Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem")
Oh, little town of lycanthropes,
Peculiar to mine eye,
For it is bright, this Christmas night,
A full moon in the sky.
There are no merchants vending--
Wherever did they hide?
Perhaps, in fright,
They ran from sight,
And now they're stuck inside?
In truth, there are no merchants,
In this small village fair,
When these folks meet,
They're on four feet,
All covered in wolf hair.
Every man and woman,
Each little boy of two,
Would well and soon spend each full moon
Hunting for caribou.
How silently, how silently,
Timber wolves stalk the town,
And santa's deer have much to fear,
The moment they touch down.
Humans turn and run, when
They meet wolves in the wood,
It must be seen--
Werewolves aren't mean,
They're just misunderstood.
Under a mighty pine tree,
The hunted and the few,
Wolves young and old, quite damp and cold,
The elder and the new.
Why would any werewolf
Stand out there in the sod?
Just to give voice,
With howls rejoice,
In the birth of God.
I'm Dreaming of a White Werewolf
(Sung to the tune of "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas")
The Pack's arriving, the moon is high,
The Alpha male's come to play,
but why do I have to stay
With ebony, tan or grey?
Though many fine wolves are near,
There's but one werewolf I want here...
I'm dreaming of a white werewolf,
Just like the one I used to know--
With fur, soft and pale,
A proud, noble tail,
And eyes with a strange blue glow...
I'm dreaming of a white werewolf,
With every passing full moon night.
Though the pack hierarchy is tight,
May the pelt of the next lone wolf
Be white.
Lobo, The Werewolf
(Sung to the tune of "Frosty, the Snowman")
Lobo, the werewolf, was a rabid soul, of late--
With blood-stained paws, and foam-flecked jaws,
And two eyes that burned with hate.
Lobo, the werewolf, was an old wive's tale, they said--
But the children knew, as did those two
Who would later turn up dead.
Their final hope might have lain in
That silver chain they found...
But those two schmucks put it round his neck,
Then their heads rolled on the ground.
Oh, Lobo, the werewolf, felt a pain of a high grade,
But he couldn't grasp that silver clasp--
It was lodged behind his shoulder blade.
He rampaged through the sleepy town,
Mauling shop after shop, And he only paused a moment to
Dismember a traffic cop.
Oh, Lobo, the werewolf, could have crushed the town that day--
But the townfolk hired a masked guy from
The Lone Ranger one-act play.
Oh, Thump.
(That's it, really. Once the protagonist hits the ground with a thump, you can't go much further, from a poetry point-of-view, can you?)
God Rest ye Merry, Lycanthropes
Sung to the tune of "God rest ye Merry, Gentlemen")
God rest ye merry, lycanthropes
Let nothing bother you--
Remember that the wolvesbane all
Died out in '42.
The werewolf hunter's stuck at home,
Suffering with the flu--
[Refrain]
The world is yours,
When the full moon rises high,
Rises high,
The world's yours when the full moon rises high.
Electrum came in vogue last year--
The silver's almost gone.
The only blessed weapons are on Hock at E-Z Pawn.
In short, there's nothing here to stop
A lycanthropic throng,
[refrain]
Half of mankind is infected--
Werecreatures. One and all.
The rest are used for excercise,
Or mounted to a wall.
It might be fun to sit and watch
Civilization fall
[refrain]
Maybe together humans and
Werewolves could play and run,
Without strife and hostility,
Relating one-on-one.
Living together, happily,
But dammit, that's not fun!
[refrain]
Have Yourself a Slightly Furry Christmas
(Sung to the tune of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas")
Have yourself a slightly furry Christmas,
Let the Moon shine in.
Just make sure you don't
Commit a mortal sin...
Hands extend and turn into paws,
Breaking Nature's laws,
You see
Profound thoughts are revealed quite soon,
Under a full moon,
Running Santa up
A tree...
Chasing off the little
Avon lady
With a rumbling growl.
Joining with your family in a rising howl,
And have Yourself A Slightly furry Christmas,
Now.
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
(Sung to the tune of--what else? "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear")
It came upon a midnight clear,
Form framed against the sky,
With glist'ning teeth and dark grey fur,
Perhaps seven feet high.
All of the shepherds rose to see--
Its howls brough them from sleep.
What could we do but stand and watch?
It left with seven sheep.
Days passed, numbering twenty-eight,
We'd not seen that beast since,
Nothing's poorer than shepherds, but
Those sheep belonged to the prince.
And now, we sleep, the night seems safe,
Four weeks since it last came,
And Joe stands guard over the flock,
Watching the bonfire's flame.
And then, of course, the beast came back,
Perhaps some lamb to take.
The sheep stampeded in a herd,
Leaving Joe in their wake.
Not quite a mastiff, almost man,
Fur pelt from head to toe,
Leaving us without sheep or guard--
The huge thing borrowed Joe.
It's been a month since that beast came,
A month since we lost Joe,
But I heard two things howl last night,
I've no sheep left to go. I think that I'll not stay, although
There's nothing shepherds fear--
The prince has asked for his sheep back--
I hear Rome's nice this year...
Oh, Little Town of Lycanthropes
(Sung to the tune of "Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem")
Oh, little town of lycanthropes,
Peculiar to mine eye,
For it is bright, this Christmas night,
A full moon in the sky.
There are no merchants vending--
Wherever did they hide?
Perhaps, in fright,
They ran from sight,
And now they're stuck inside?
In truth, there are no merchants,
In this small village fair,
When these folks meet,
They're on four feet,
All covered in wolf hair.
Every man and woman,
Each little boy of two,
Would well and soon spend each full moon
Hunting for caribou.
How silently, how silently,
Timber wolves stalk the town,
And santa's deer have much to fear,
The moment they touch down.
Humans turn and run, when
They meet wolves in the wood,
It must be seen--
Werewolves aren't mean,
They're just misunderstood.
Under a mighty pine tree,
The hunted and the few,
Wolves young and old, quite damp and cold,
The elder and the new.
Why would any werewolf
Stand out there in the sod?
Just to give voice,
With howls rejoice,
In the birth of God.
