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 Baby Jesus was a Mexican, I saw it for myself, In dozens of historical sculptures sitting on a shelf, All my life I thought like all good stories I’d been told, Baby Jesus was a white dude ‘casue that’s all the stores sold, On my personal pilgrimage from Northern Hemisphere to South, It was brought to my attention as my jaw almost fell right off my mouth, I saw that Mary made tamales and Joseph ran a farm, Just kickin it in Mexico away from any harm, Their place was lined with cactus and had pyramids built to the sun, The cows were a little skinny and the donkeys were rode for fun, In fact the Wiseman were really Aztecs, that needed not travel all that far, Brining little gifts like aged mezcal & rare tequila for Josephs bar, There was no gospel hymns sung quiet on Christmas day, It was a booming mariachi band that played for Jesus in the hay, Seven members deep with grand sombreros to block the heat, The trumpets lead the band while the others kept the beat, I know you heard some story about myrrh & frankincense, But I saw it for myself in a museum with ancient sculptures quite intense, Some carved in wood or clay etched in ancient stone, All on display at the museum with every little bit of history about Jesus home, "Mi casa su casa" hung on a humble sign above the door, I'm not sure the United States OF Bethlehem would have the same welcoming committee in Store, Give or take a couple centuries of friendship with the neighbours to the North this would be a little bump, Mi casa su casa would be more like a duplex with a wall ‘casue these crazy asses elected Trump! Merry Kixmas To All And To All A Taco Night! He sees you when you're sleeping,
 Well we all know the season and I can’t believe it’s been a year,
Your in luck my dear friends The Merry Kixmas annual letter is here, ‘Twas the week B4 New Years & I reflect on the year,
whilst wrapping some presents and shotguning a beer, Twas four days before Kixmas and all through the land,
the world was ending or so was the plan, Some American misinterpreted a calendar craved of bone, One shouldn’t do research when there right fukin stoned, Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, little baby Jesus (B.J.) lie down his sweet head.
All nestled and tucked all warm for the night, dreams of busting outta this wooden shack dance about B.J’s head, Ahh yes, the anual KIXMAS jingle. (I'd read it over & laugh your ass off prior to reading out loud to youth).
Especially for you Debbs, don't fret i didnt 4get! Hope this finds you all well. Ahhh I'm a sucker 4 traditions! |
AuthorOhh man I've been crafting these since 99' if you've got any of my old ones send em back to me! Archives
December 2017
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