Have all the sex you want but not with old St. Nic
He won't come down your chimney with his toys or with his prick
You're like The Ghost Of Christmas Past 'cos you're easy to see through
Santa may not be an artist but he's more real than you

I wouldn't want your sex if you sat on me and whirled
It's easy to get caught up in the material world
Greed is a temptation I found hard to rise above
But even Mr. Number One knows money can't buy love

Compared to your record sales you're just a song and dance
So buy a baggy pair and stop grabbing at your pants
It's hard to feel reality even in the end
When the world that you live in is nothing but pretend

One day you'll realize there is no surgery
That can alter what we hear or the man we see
I may have two but that's the other side of me
At least both of my faces reflect what's inside me

For all I care you can freeze yourself for a thousand years
I'll be dead but even in my grave I'll still plug my ears
I'll never let you buy the rights to any of my songs
They came from inside me and that's where ownership belongs

01/01/1986

Author's Note: Originally part of Artificial Artists, my brother convinced me I was being too hard on those who have accomplished more than I could ever dream of. So I pulled them out, but couldn't throw them away. So here they are. JJ

Posted on 09/28/2005
Copyright © 2025 JJ Johnson