| Don’t you give me all that jive about things you wrote before I’s alive
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| 'Cause this ain’t 1823 -- ain’t even 1970
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| Now I’m the guy named Kurtis Blow and Christmas is one thing I know
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| So every year just about this time, I celebrate it with a rhyme
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| Gonna shake it, gonna bake it, gonna make it good
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| Gonna rock shock clock it through your neighbourhood
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| Gonna read, gonna sing it till it’s understood
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| My rappin' bout to happen like a knee you’ve been slapping
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| Or a toe you’ve been tapping on a hunk of wood
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| Bout a red-suited dude with a friendly attitude
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| And a sleigh full of goodies for for the people on the block
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| Got a long white beard, maybe looks kind a weird
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| And if you ever see him, he could give you quite a shock
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| Now people let me tell ya bout last year
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| When the dude came flying over here
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| Well, the hog was out, snow’s on the ground
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| Folks stayed in to party down
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| The beat was thumping on the box, and I was dancing in my socks
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| And the drummer played at a solid pace
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| And a taste of the bass was in my face
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| And the guitar player layed down a heavy layer
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| Of the funky junky rhythm of the disco beat
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| And the guy with the 88's started to participate
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| And I could sure appreciate a sound so sweet
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| We were all in the mood so we had a little food
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| And a joke, and a smoke, and a little bit of wine
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| When I thought I heard a hoof on the top of the roof
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| Could it be or was it me? |
| I was feeling super fine
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| So I went to the attic where I thought heard the static
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| On the chance that the prance was somebody breaking in
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| But the noise on the top was a reindeer clop
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| Just a trick St. Nick, and I let the sucker in
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| He was rolly, he was poly, and I said, «Holy moly!
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| You got a lot of whiskers on your chinny chin chin»
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| He allowed he was proud of the hairy little crowd
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| On the point of his jaw where the skin should’ve been
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| Gets cool for a fool going out every Yule
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| For a day on a sleigh when the cold went low
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| So the beard may be weird but I’ll never have it sheared
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| Cause it’s warm in the storm when it’s ten below
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| I said, «You're right, it’s cold tonight
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| But can you stop for a drop before you go?»
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| He said, «Why not if the music’s hot?
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| And I’ll chance a dance beneath the mistletoe»
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| So he went downstairs and forgot his cares
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| And he rocked the spot and danced like a pro
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| And every young girl tried to rock his world
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| But he boogie oogie oogied til he had to go
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| And before he went, this fine old gent
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| Brought a gift with a sift through his big red bags
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| In the top or the bottom, he reached in and got 'em
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| Toys for the boys, for the girls glad rags
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| And the grownups got some presents too
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| A new TV and a stereo
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| A new Seville 'bout as blue as the sky
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| The best that money couldn’t buy
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| 'Cause money could never ever buy the feeling
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| The one that comes from not concealing
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| The way you you feel about your friends
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| And this is how the story ends
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| The dude in red’s back at the Pole
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| Up north where everything is cold
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| But if he were right here tonight
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| He’d say, Merry Christmas and to all a good night |