I’ve never been a poet or had any musical talent. This Christmas, just for grins, I decided to try and compose a Christmas rap song, or at the minimum, a rap poem about life in our great city.
The hardest part I had in writing was deciding whether to use one particular word in particular, exactly the way it’s spelled. Most L.A. rap artists, of course, wouldn’t have this problem.
I’d been told by my parents early on that it’s a bad word, yet on the other hand, I’ve heard minister after minister say it all the time. I’ve never run across the word in a family newspaper, so I erred on the safe side.
There’s a town in Kansas named this, and undoubtedly that’s the place Rudolph’s talking about, or at least we’ll have to assume he is. Having been through this area when humidity’s up around 70%, I know what the red-nosed reindeer’s talking about!
CHRISTMAS IN HAVASU
The city comes alive with loud Harleys and trucks.
Snowbirds in bunches, some waddlin’ like Oregon ducks.
London Bridge all aglow, with red, white, and blue.
There’s nothin’ like Christmas time, in scenic Lake Havasu.
No snow on the ground, or Jack Frost anywhere.
Folks wearin’ bright shorts—they don’t seem to care.
Santa arrives each Christmas Eve and stays for a brief spell,
Rudolph always sayin’, “Rooftops get hotter than Hale!”
Christmas in Havasu, with lotsa cheer and good will.
Visitors from Canada, eh-scapin’ arctic chill.
Some bring huge RV’s, while dragging tiny cars.
Retired folks aplenty, a few being stars.
Ice skating outdoors, what a sight to see.
Homes lit with colored lights, most all L-E-D.
Inflatables in yards, making soft whirring sounds.
Tall vinyl snowmen, wind often takes them down.
From Aloha Lane, Felicidad Circle, to Quiero Drive,
The jolly one’s on his way, he’s soon to arrive.
With most Havasu homes lacking fireplace chimneys,
It’s good ole Saint Nick knows how to jimmy.
Deadbolt locks aplenty in this college town.
He cracks them open without the slightest sound.
Inside homes and apartments in the blink of an eye.
Dropping his presents, those reindeer then must fly.
When Christmas is over, he’ll be back come June.
Kris and his missus rent a condo and pontoon.
Strolling through local shops, totally incognito,
Mrs. Claus often tell folks, “We’re the Kringles from San Bernadino!”
Merry Christmas
I like to write junk... 