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Christmas Pictures With Santa Claus

Well its three weeks till Christmas
and the Goff family pictures with
Santa Claus have yet to be taken.

I'm like any other wife or mother
who has a unreasonable lazy lump
of a husband and ungreatful
children all I'm asking for is one
little picture to slap on a Christmas
Card is that too much to expect?
I'd get more respect from a monkey.

Well the apt. is for 5: 00p.m
and its already 4: 15p.m.
Well the picture has been taken
family and friends please forgive
me for these pictures there was
no time for retakes.
You have witnessed the
Goff Family and what really like
a barrel of funny monkeys.
husband- sleeping
Kristina- eyes closed
Billy-tongue sticking out
Dillon- fingers in ears.

'' MERRY CHRISTMAS''
and a Darn holly jolly
HAPPY NEW YEAR

Mom needs a stiff drink

dedicate to all wives and mothers
HO HO

GAYLE GOFF
DEC 2008

poem by Gayle Anne Goff
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Believer's Jointure : Chapter II.

Containing the Marks and Characters of the Believer in Christ; together with some further privileges and grounds of comfort to the Saints.

Sect. I.

Doubting Believers called to examine, by marks drawn from their love to Him and his presence, their view of his glory, and their being emptied of Self-Righteousness, &c.

Good news! but, says the drooping bride,
Ah! what's all this to me?
Thou doubt'st thy right, when shadows hide
Thy Husband's face from thee.

Though sin and guilt thy spirit faints,
And trembling fears thy fate;
But harbour not thy groundless plaints,
Thy Husband's advent wait.

Thou sobb'st, 'O were I sure he's mine,
This would give glad'ning ease;'
And say'st, Though wants and woes combine,
Thy Husband would thee please.

But up and down, and seldom clear,
Inclos'd with hellish routs;
Yet yield thou not, nor foster fear:
Thy Husband hates thy doubts.

Thy cries and tears may slighted seem,
And barr'd from present ease;
Yet blame thyself, but never dream
Thy Husband's ill to please.

Thy jealous unbelieving heart
Still droops, and knows not why;
Then prove thyself to ease thy smart,
Thy Husband bids the try.

The following questions put to the
As scripture-marks, may tell
And shew, what'er thy failings be,
Thy Husband loves thee well.

MARKS.

Art thou content when he's away?
Can earth allay thy pants?
If conscience witness, won't it say,
Thy Husband's all thou wants?

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poem by Ralph Erskine
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The Believer's Jointure : Chapter I.

Containing the Privileges of the Believer that is espoused to Christ by faith of divine operation.

Sect. I.

The Believer's perfect beauty, free acceptance, and full security, through the imputation of Christ's perfect righteousness, though imparted grace be imperfect.

O Happy soul, Jehovah's bride,
The Lamb's beloved spouse;
Strong consolation's flowing tide,
Thy Husband thee allows.

In thee, though like thy father's race,
By nature black as hell;
Yet now so beautify'd by grace,
Thy Husband loves to dwell.

Fair as the moon thy robes appear,
While graces are in dress:
Clear as the sun, while found to wear
Thy Husband's righteousness.

Thy moon-like graces, changing much,
Have here and there a spot;
Thy sun-like glory is not such,
Thy Husband changes not.

Thy white and ruddy vesture fair
Outvies the rosy leaf;
For 'mong ten thousand beauties rare
Thy Husband is the chief.

Cloth'd with the sun, thy robes of light
The morning rays outshine:
The lamps of heav'n are not so bright,
Thy Husband decks thee fine.

Though hellish smoke thy duties stain,
And sin deforms thee quite;
Thy Surety's merit makes thee clean,
Thy Husband's beauty white.

Thy pray'rs and tears, nor pure, nor good,
But vile and loathsome seem;
Yet, gain by dipping in his blood,
Thy Husband's high esteem.

No fear thou starve, though wants be great,
In him thou art complete;

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poem by Ralph Erskine
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Santas Beard

I wanna meet santa claus, the real real santa
I wanna meet santa claus, the real real santa
I wanna see santa claus, the real real santa
He wants to meet ol santa claus
I took my brother to the department store
He wanted to show santa his christmas list
He stood in line and he shook like a leaf
Hes only five and a half goin on six
He said, is that (that santa) really santa claus,
Really really (the real santa) santa claus?
Is that (that santa) really santa claus, really really santa?
(I hope he doesnt pull santas beard)
Is that (that santa) really santa claus,
Really really (the real santa) santa?
Hope he thinks thats santa claus
I picked him up and put him on santas lap
And then he pulled the pillow out of his shirt
He yanked the beard right on off of his chin
And in his eyes I could see he was hurt
He said, youre not (not santa) really santa claus,
Youre really not (the real santa) santa claus
Youre not (not santa) really santa claus,
Youre really not santa (he shouldnta pulled santas beard)
Youre not (not santa) santa claus,
Youre really not (the real santa) santa
Hes just helpin santa claus
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin santa claus
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (he shouldnta pulled santas beard) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin santa claus

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Believe In Santa Claus

I believe in santa claus
I believe in santa claus
I believe theres always hope when all seems lost
And I believe in santa claus
I believe in santa claus, Ill tell you why I do
cause I believe that dreams and plans and wishes can come true
I believe in miracles, I believe in magic too
Oh I believe in santa claus and I believe in you
I believe in family, in country and in smiles
I believe in turnin negatives to positives in life
I believe in lookin farther up the farther down we get
I believe when someone hurts us we should forgive and forget
And I believe in santa claus
I believe in santa claus
I believe love should prevail at any cost
And I believe in santa claus
I believe in saying what you mean and meaning what you say
I believe a better attitude can make a better way
And I believe in viewing life as a journey that were on
And lookin at our troubles as another stepping stone
And I believe that everything in life is what its meant to be
I believe there is a God somewhere although hes hard to see
I believe I am so therefore I should do all that I can
To be a better piece in the puzzle of gods plan
And I believe in santa claus
I believe in santa claus
I believe theres always hope when all seems lost
And I believe in santa claus
Let the little children sing it
I believe in santa claus, I believe in santa claus
I believe in santa claus, I believe in santa claus
Let the whole world sing it with us
I believe in santa claus, I believe in santa claus
I believe in santa claus, I believe in santa claus
Let the whole world sing it with us
I believe in santa claus
I believe in santa claus
I believe theres always hope when all seems lost
I believe in santa claus

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Here Comes Santa Claus

(words & music by autry - haldeman)
Here comes santa claus, here comes santa claus,
Right down santa claus lane.
Vixen, blitzen, all his reindeer
Pulling on the reins.
Bells are ringing, children singing,
All is merry and bright.
Hang your stockings and say a prayer,
'cause santa claus comes tonight.
Here comes santa claus, here comes santa claus,
Riding down santa claus lane.
He's got a bag that's filled with toys
For boys and girls again.
Hear those sleigh bells jingle jangle,
What a beautiful sight.
Jump in bed and cover up your head,
Because santa claus comes tonight.
Here comes santa claus, here comes santa claus,
Riding down santa claus lane.
He doesn't care if you're a rich or poor boy,
He loves you just the same.
Santa knows that we're god's children,
That makes everything right.
Fill your hears with christmas cheer,
'cause santa claus comes tonight.
Well, here comes santa claus, here comes santa claus,
Riding down santa claus lane.
He'll come around when the chimes ring out
It's christmas morn again.
Peace on earth will come to all
If we just follow the light
Let's give thanks to the lord above,
'cause santa claus comes tonight.
'cause santa claus comes tonight

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Santa Claus Is Comin To Town

(j. fred coots/haven gillespie)
You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
Im telling you why
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Hes making a list,
Checking it twice;
Gonna find out whos naughty or nice.
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
He sees you when youre sleeping
He knows when youre awake
He knows if youve been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake
With little tin horns and little toy drums
Rooty toot toots and rummy tum tums
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
He sees you when youre sleeping
He knows when youre awake
He knows if youve been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake
Goodness sake
You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
Im telling you why
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming
Santa claus is coming
Santa claus is coming to town
(coming to town)
Santas a busy man he has no time to play
Hes got millions of stockings to fill on christmas day
(santa claus is coming to town)
(coming to town)
(santa claus is coming to town)
(coming to town)

song performed by Lonestar
Added by Lucian Velea
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Feed The Monkey

She likes to feed the monkey
She likes to feed the monkey
She likes to feed the monkey
She likes the monkey
Well gather 'round and let me tell you all a story
About a boy and his monkey
He's got that kind of monkey that the girls wanna know
He likes to take his monkey every place that he goes
(Can we pet your monkey?)
Hey, ho, you see the monkey?
Did you know you made my monkey hungry?
I didn't really know how it get so hungry
I'd like to know
Would you feed the monkey?
Well you can pet my monkey
'Cause my monkey don't bite
But when you pet my monkey
He get funky all night
My monkey ain't no ordinary orangutang
'Cause my monkey likes to do the wild thing
My monkey don't scratch
My monkey don't bite
My monkey don't swing no tree
My monkey don't hit
My monkey don't drool
My monkey be swing with me
My monkey don't freak
My monkey don't trip
My monkey don't wear no cape
But you can tell what my monkey wanna eat
'Cause it turn into a big ol' ape
Yeah...
Hey..
The monkey's getting hungry
Hey, hey, why don't you feed your monkey?
(REPEAT x 3)
What she want?
She wants the monkey
(REPEAT x 3)
You know she want
You know she want
You know she wants the monkey
(REPEAT x 3)
Hey, hey, she likes to feed the monkey
Ooh, she's sayin' it's time to feed the monkey
Everyday she wants to feed the monkey
All through the day she likes to feed the monkey
She likes to feed the monkey
(REPEAT x 7)
Feed the monkey

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song performed by Infectious Grooves
Added by Lucian Velea
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Santa Claus Goes Straight To The Ghetto

( ) = santa voice
[ ] = squeaky kid voice
Intro: bad a$$
Is that the black santa claus? (ho ho ho! merry christmas!)
I want a super nintendo ... yeah, sega genesis, yeah,
Street fighter 2, all these games...
[mommy! is that the black santa claus?
That is the black santa claus! mommee! mommee! mommee!]
Verse 1: dat nigga daz
Its 12.30 am, christmas eve
Im out with the gangstas and thieves
Celebratin, postin up with eggnog [head up up] in my cup
[put rudolph and moses] lil bang-bangin and coastin
Down the block but be careful for the heart, because its posted
Some stay to this day that christmas aint nothing but another day
But, out of respect, I gotta give the lord his day
Tell me, tell me, where do the homies and bums got to sleep? {nowhere}
Where do hungry and the needy-greedys got to eat? {but who cares? }
Life is so crucial and cold, [its worse] for the children
In this world they hopes and dreams cant afford
The young and old churches and spiritual dreams, seasonal things
Heard throughout the ghetto reaches gangstas and dope-fiends, huh
cause those who aint able get it now can finally get it
cause the ghetto santa claus has sprinkled the hood and now we ballin
Livin to a new year of better thangs
Celebrate it with some champagne, ha ha, check it ...
Chorus: nate dogg
Santa claus ... is coming straight to the ghetto ...
Bridge: snoop doggy dogg
Now on the first day of christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A sack of the krazy glue and told me to smoke it up slowly
Now on the second day of christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A fifth of hendog and told me to take my mind off that weed
Now by the third day of christmas, my big homeboy gave to me
A whole lot of everything, and it wasnt nuthin but game to me
Verse 2: bad a$$
Back then, you woke up to the sound of i saw mama kissing santa
Made you remenisce on the old fashion christmas days
Gifts, miss a fat man jolly with joy
Down ya chimney with toys for lil girls and boys
Pumped up, I jumped up before the sun peeped in
And hoped to catch a santa claus creepin down my hall
Ran to the window, put my eyes to the sky
To see if I could see the sleigh that parlayed and pushed a fat guy
I sigh, aint no sign, but everything under this tree in my house is mine
My bike, that, and this plastic ninell do fine till next year come
I try to see the same thing, they got us brain washed dumb
And when you find, it aint no santa, christmas still mean a lot
cause its the time to get together and give all you got
You got food, good moods, and whats better than together with your people

[...] Read more

song performed by Snoop Dogg
Added by Lucian Velea
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IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus

Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—

Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hey Santa

If everyday was christmas
If we could make believe
If everyone would care a little more
Thered be harmoney
The city is covered in snow tonight
The children fast asleep
Im waiting for him, but hes nowhere in sight
And I wonder if he can hear me
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
I wish with all my might
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
Bring my baby home tonight
Why does it feel like its colder than winter
Even by the fireside
My baby said hed be home for christmas
And now its almost midnight
The christmas lights up and down the street
Are such a sight to see
But all the presents by the tree
They dont mean a thing till hes with me
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
I wish with all my might
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
If you hear me wont you hurry
Bring my baby tonight
I know your sleigh is full inside
But wont you stop and give my baby a ride
Ill be waiting by candle light this christmas
The christmas lights up and down the street
Are such a sight to see
But all the presents by the tree
They dont mean a thing
Santa please hear me
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
I wish with all my might
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
If you hear me wont you hurry
Bring my baby tonight
The christmas lights up and down the street
The presents by the tree
I hear a knock, oh can it be?
My wish is staring back at me
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa

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song performed by Wilsons
Added by Lucian Velea
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Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

You'd better watch out, you'd better not cry
You'd better not pout, i'm telling you why
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
He's making a list, he's checkin' it twice
He's gonna find out whose daughter you're nice
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
He sees you when you're sleeping
He knows if you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
(so you'd) better be good for goodness sake
Better be good for goodness sake
You'd better watch out, you'd better not cry
You'd better not pout, i'm telling you why
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
He sees you when you're sleeping
He knows if you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
(so you'd) better be good for goodness sake
Better be good for goodness sake
You'd better watch out, you'd better not cry
You'd better not pout, i'm telling you why
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
Santa claus is coming to town
(released on a 45rpm)

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sister Helen

"Why did you melt your waxen man
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began."
"The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

"But if you have done your work aright,
Sister Helen,
You'll let me play, for you said I might."
"Be very still in your play to-night,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

"You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,
Sister Helen;
If now it be molten, all is well."
"Even so,--nay, peace! you cannot tell,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day,
Sister Helen;
How like dead folk he has dropp'd away!"
"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

"See, see, the sunken pile of wood,
Sister Helen,
Shines through the thinn'd wax red as blood!"
"Nay now, when look'd you yet on blood,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore,
Sister Helen,
And I'll play without the gallery door."
"Aye, let me rest,--I'll lie on the floor,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Here high up in the balcony,
Sister Helen,

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poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Added by Poetry Lover
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