O little town of Bethlehem*
How still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight
The time is near for merriment,**
To celebrate the wise.
The land of Puritans have deemed,
That poker is not a vice.
And if it is, they still don’t care,
For tax money is tythe,
The lights that shine are not the Lord,
But casino-neon lights.
For Christ is born of Mary
And gathered all above
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love
O morning stars together
Proclaim the holy birth
And praises sing to God the King
And Peace to men on earth
For Poker is born of necessity,
For tax and spending states,
Who used to frown on gambling,
While AC govs got paid.
And with the spread of legal poker,
The players shall come as well.
Particularly from New York,
Where poker laws are hell.
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still,
The dear Christ enters in.
And the Pennsy land whose song we sing,
Is the land of Bethlehem,
Where God was King but now he’s more,
An Ace or two in hand.
Ninety minutes from NYC,
An ample group of players,
The clack of chips shall fill the town,
Drowning Amish prayers.
O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born to us today
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell
O come to us, abide with us
Our Lord Emmanuel
But is that Christ? No, Ferguson.
The Other Jesus, fool.
And while he’s there
Come Jordan and his degen poker crew.
The date shall be July 31,
Though poker starts two weeks prior.
So come and join by car or train,
The walkers and the flyers.
O holy Poker of Bethlehem
Descend on us this day,
Spread our sin and soon we’ll be,
getting Pennsy paid.
* From the Christmas Carol, O Little Town of Bethlehem
** From the sick mind of Jordan.
June 29th, 2010 - 6:27 pm
You were doing ok for a little while there, but prior/flyers and day/paid are not true rhymes. In lyric writing-speak, they’re referred to as bastard rhymes…and well, no one wants to be called names.