Iowa Christmas Carols

If you feel like bursting into song after getting a snog-full of Iowa Cocktails this holiday season, then you might want to brush up on your State-appropriate Christmas Carols. Here are some samples to memorize so everybody in the house (or restaurant, or church) can more fully appreciate your passion for the Hawkeye State. Maintain those rights, prize those liberties, and try to avoid trapping the minister’s wife under the mistletoe. That always ends badly for everybody.

Wee Steve King from Storm Lake Afar

Wee Steve King from Storm Lake afar,
saying things both odd and bizarre.
Immigration, gays, creation:
he’s a Tea Party star.

Ohhhh . . . star of FOX News, star of Rush,
star of migrant dreams be-crushed.
Northwestward leading, right proceeding,
campaigning coffers a-flush.

Away With a Ranger

Away with a ranger
in a Chevy Tahoe,
the Governor’s speeding
wherever he goes.

The trucks in the left lane
all wave him on through,
and toot as he races
to far Waterloo.

Oh Come, Oh Come, Oh Rahm Emanuel

Oh come, oh come, oh Rahm Emanuel
and ransom Dems from 2014’s hell.
We mourn in lonely ex-exile here,
Until the next Obama dost appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! For Rahm Emanuel
might work for Hillary someday as well.

Silent Night, Frozen Night

Silent night, frozen night.
Power’s out, there’s no light.
’round yon Sterno can, warming our hands,
waiting still for the Mid-Amerk man.

Sleep in an Old Navy flee-eece . . .
Sleep in an Old Navy fleece.

God Rest Ye, Angry Senators

God rest ye, angry Senators
let nothing you dismay.
Tom Harkin’s gone, so now you’re free
to vote against the gays,
the immigrants, Obamacare,
they all can go away.
Oh-oh, tidings of money and guns,
Money and guns!
Oh-oh, ti-hidings of money and guns.


Ethanol’s in all our gas tanks
Fa-la-la-la-la . . . la-la-la-la
Subsidies for which we give thanks
Fa-la-la-la-la . . . la-la-la-la

Sell we now our soybean bounty
Fa-la-la-la-la . . . la-la-la-la
Hogs in every single county
Fa-la-la-la-la . . . la-la-la-la

Joni the Colonel

Joni the Colonel
is a telegenic star.
Cutting balls from pigs, driving souped-up rigs:
that has worked for her so far.

Off to Potomac
with a scalpel in her fist.
Slicing here and there, through the meat and hair,
she will cut right to the gist.

There must have been some magic
in that old tea bag she found,
for when she drank it from the pot,
all her facts, they danced around.

Oh, Joni the Colonel
is a Senator today.
Working through the nights, to protect your rights,
if it please the N.R.A.

Have Yourself a Terry Little Statehouse

Have yourself a Terry little statehouse,
Let your ‘stache be grey.
From now on
he’ll never, ever go away.

Have yourself a Terry little statehouse,
(unless you are gay),
can never vote another way.

Here we are as in long-passed days,
happy brown ‘stache days
of yore.
Faithful donors who had cash for us,
have a stash for us
once more.

Someday soon there will be a new election,
(if the Gov allows).
Until then,
we’ll talk about the Butter Cow.
So have yourself a Terry little statehouse . . . now.

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

I’ll be home for Christmas.
You can count on me,
if the charges are reduced
to drunk and disorderly.

Christmas Eve will find me
in the county jail.
So I’ll be home for Christmas,
if you’ll just make my bail.

Let There Be Peace on Earth

Let there be peace on Earth
and let it begin with me,
if I don’t kill someone
while shopping at Jordan Creek.

In Scheels, there is chaos,
In Younkers, misery.
Chik-Fil-A is a war zone
of Uggs and Polar Fleece.

Let peace begin with me,
let this be my moment now.
With every gift I buy,
let this be my solemn vow:
to hate each moment
and fear each moment
I spend here in Jordan Creek.

Let there be peace on Earth,
’til I come back in here next week.

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