8 Vintage Christmas Carols (That Are All About F#@king)
In 2008 Lady Gaga gave the world the gift of a song where she refers to her vagina as a Christmas tree, suggesting that she has a serious misunderstanding of how at least one of those works. Between that and other recent tracks, like Nate Dogg rapping about getting holiday head and the beloved family classic "Father Christmas Fucked My Pussy," it's easy to assume that modern perverts have ruined a once-innocent holiday with sexualized music.
But Christmas carols riddled with double entendre have actually been around for decades. Most of them faded into obscurity because no one wants to hear odes to getting laid while decorating the tree with grandma, but today I'm here to tell you about the tracks she used to seduce grandpa right in the dick all those many Christmases ago.
Jimmy Butler Wants to "Trim Your Tree," and by "Tree" He Means "Vagina" (and by "Trim," He Means "Have Sex With")
1954 was a different time. Civil Rights were just a quaint idea, communists were gearing up to steal everyone's precious bodily fluids, and you couldn't go on the radio and tell a girl you wanted to give her the Christmas gift of your dick without getting slapped with some sort of fine. But one man -- nay, one hero -- named Jimmy Butler found a way around that.
It starts innocently enough. Maybe "Baby, I wanna trim your beautiful Christmas tree" is meant literally, even though Butler does sound like he's singing while trying to hide his erection. He starts begging for the honors and says that his "work is pleasing," but maybe he's just a real go-getter. Then he declares that he's going to "bring along my hatchet, my beautiful Christmas balls," and everyone listening says in unison, "Ooh, he's talking about his junk." Just to make it perfectly clear, he voices his intention to "sprinkle his snow on your tree," but only with the goal to "make you cheery," because he is generous and sensitive when it comes to Christmas bukkake.
He once gave a tree a beautiful pearl necklace.
Butler then insists that he's way better at trimming trees than that other guy who wants to trim your tree, and while he's not one to spread rumors, he couldn't help but overhear that this other schlub gets way too excited and quickly throws all of his tinsel on one branch without even paying attention to what would make the tree look good. In fact, Butler claims to be the best tree-trimmer in the world, a title all men aspire to. So go on, let Butler trim your tree. What's the worst someone who refers to his penis as a sharp object could do?
Santa Claus Got Stuck in Ella Fitzgerald's Chimney, and "Chimney" Is a Euphemism
It's a 1950s euphemism for vagina, you guys. Listen to Ella Fitzgerald cooing away and tell me I'm wrong. "Santa Claus got stuck in my chimney when he came last year," she sings, and stop giggling; we're just getting started. "There he was in the middle of the chimney, roly-poly, fat, and round," and you're picturing Santa's boner now, aren't you? You can admit it, it's OK. This is a judgment-free zone. I bet it looks like a throbbing candy cane.
Then we learn Santa was "not quite up and not quite down," which leads you to wonder what sort of bizarre portal to an alternate dimension that Fitzgerald called her vagina would cause a half-erect Santa to get stuck in it.
What were you hiding?
She wishes Santa would come back this year, although the filthiness falls apart (or gets cranked up to 11, depending on how you look at it) with the line "Daddy made a brand new chimney for you this year." I understand that the trappings of Christmas don't give you a lot of options in the entendre department, but if a guy wanted to have sex with something filthy and reeking of smoke he'd just fuck Lindsay Lohan.
Clarence Carter Wants to Give the Gift of Anal Sex
"They call me Back Door Santa," this 1968 track begins, and it only gets less subtle from there. Clarence Carter claims he "makes all the little girls happy while the boys are out to play," which is his soulful way of telling the men who are listening that he sneaks into their homes and sodomizes their significant others while they're out bowling or whatever. Always be vigilant, men, because this isn't just a seasonal threat -- Carter ain't like old Saint Nick -- he don't come but once a year. If I've parsed the double negatives correctly, we learn that Carter has a 365-day advent calendar and behind every flap is a travel jar of Vaseline.
Have you ever made love just before breakfast to a deranged Santa impersonator?
He then goes on to explain that he always keeps change in his pocket to give to kids "so we can be alone," and this is one dubious consent away from being the world's first Christmas carol-themed sex offender instructional guide. "I make my runs about the break of day," Carter tells us with the same words mail carriers use to describe their jobs, because he commits adultery in the same bulk numbers that some of us buy frozen waffles. Shit, is there a sequel where he laments having to buy gifts for dozens of bastard children?
Sonny Boy Williamson Knows Where to Look for His Christmas Gift
Were you ever caught looking in your parents' dresser for presents as a kid? 1960's "Santa Claus" is an ode to that naughty childhood activity, except Sonny Boy Williamson is a grown-ass man with a very different gift in mind.
Williamson is so bluesy he pronounces Santa Claus as "Santy Claw," and you get the desire to go out and chain-smoke an entire pack of cigarettes hearing him say it. His girl goes Christmas shopping and hides her present for Williamson in her dresser drawers, and he decides to look for it because he has the patience of a 6-year-old. But when he pulls out her bottom dresser drawer, their landlord calls the cops on him, and I'm honestly not sure if that's a euphemism or just one more thing a black man could get in trouble for in 1960.
And in 2014.
The police want to know "whatcha doing with your hand in that woman's dresser drawers," even though it's really none of their business whose hand goes into what wardrobe drawer in a private bedroom. Undeterred, Williamson hits the streets and starts pulling out all the ladies' dresser drawers, perhaps reasoning that his baby hid her present with a friend. But wait, what are their dressers doing out on the street? This isn't adding up. It's almost like "drawers" has two meanings and, oh shit, this is a Christmas carol about a serial molester/underwear thief. Merry Christmas, Williamson, you pervert.
His suit is made entirely from recycled panties.
Albert King Demands Sex for Christmas
Albert King has a problem in "Santa Claus Wants Some Lovin'," and the problem is he ain't getting any. But with mama in the kitchen and her children fast asleep, it's time for Santa to make his "midnight creep." Yeah, that's a euphemism I guarantee no happily married couple has ever used.
"I ain't had no lovin', and it's worryin' me," King bemoans, to which his wife presumably responds, "Well then, maybe you should have done some of the Christmas shopping this year, Albert." King/Claus/Whoever-he's-supposed-to-be has a plan, though. He's watching mama "for that sleep in her eyes," because once she's all tuckered out her resistance will wear down and she won't notice he's arching his eyebrow when he asks her if she wants to go to bed.
"I'd sure hate it if we had a silent night! Seriously, I want a blowjob."
The track comes across like a Christmas ode to a husband who manages to overcome his wife's "not tonight, I have a headache" excuse. "Now Christmas is for the children, and I want them to be pleased," King sings, before vaguely threatening that they won't be unless he gets some action, with "but right now mama, it's Christmas Eve -- come make your papa happy, please." Presumably she does just that, and so we've got a jazzy carol about what your parents got up to after you went to bed to dream of new toys. "Mom and Dad Are Totally Doing It Under the Tree Because Dad Demanded It, So Check Your New Toys Carefully for Bodily Fluids" was too on-the-nose, I guess.
Rufus Thomas Will Be Your Santa, Give You the Gift of Dick
There's apparently an entire jazz subgenre in which singers roleplay as Santa Claus, who in their minds is a virile Yuletide fuck machine and not an obese senior citizen living in a sexless marriage because he's too focused on his work.
"I'll slide down your chimney and bring you lots of joy," Rufus Thomas tells listeners, "but what I got for you, mama, it ain't just a toy," because what he's got is his penis. He's going to put his penis in mama's chimney, which, again, means vagina. I'm not going to bother being subtle, because with lines like "You can play with it baby," Mr. Thomas sure ain't.
"Can we punch a scrote-hole too? I want to be able to fit all of my junk through there."
The song goes on and on about how much cheer and joy his "toy" will bring you, to the point where I can't help but worry that whoever the lucky recipient is will be let down no matter how many times it makes her Ding Dong Merrily on High. But the bravado gets truly staggering with "I'll be your Santa baby, 'til 1984," a line that would be bold if the song had been released in 1983 but comes across as a little unnerving considering it was released in 1973. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure most women don't want a straight decade's worth of intercourse for Christmas. The week's worth of Thomas' dick, promised in the line "when the new year rolls around you'll still be asking for more," seems like a more reasonable holiday gift. It's one thing to give someone a couple of Christmas oranges and another to sign them up for the Fruit of the Month club, you know?
"I'll make you Auld Lang Sigh. Or something. Fuck it, whatever."
Paul Revere & the Raiders Want Santa to Bring Them a Mail-Order Bride
This little ditty brought to us by the combined might of an overrated war hero and a sad sack NFL team may have been innocent in 1967, but today it comes across as the official carol of every frustrated "nice guy" who doesn't understand why women won't have sex with him even though he holds the door open before announcing his erection.
Paul's letter to Santa reads "It's getting very lonely here at home; I think I'd like a special someone I can call my very own," because he seems to be under the impression that Santa has a side business in human trafficking. Hey, maybe that's what happens to naughty kids.
And they do look like the type to keep people in their basements.
But wait, it gets weirder! "Won't you bring me a real live doll?" Paul asks. It's not clear whether he's asking for a life-sized doll to be brought to life through arcane Santa magick or if he just wants a mail-order bride sitting under his tree, and it's also not clear which option is creepier. But don't worry: he deserves it, because he's been "very, very good." It's weird to find lyrics from a 1967 song that match 2007 posts on a pick-up artist forum.
To be fair to Paul, he's apparently not alone in asking for this, because Santa "must have a thousand" real-life dolls in his saddest warehouse. Between being portrayed as a sex-slave deliverer and an insatiable poonhound, it seems Santa went through a weird phase in the '60s just like everyone else.
But Paul doesn't just want love -- he wants "a special trick that looks delicious," because he's "tired of cleaning all the pots and pans and dirty dishes." Ah, casual sexism, it wouldn't be Christmas without you. Sadly, we don't learn whether or not he gets his magical sex maid, but if you believe in Christmas miracles like I do, I think there's only one possible outcome.
The miracle is that I finally found a use for this stock photo.
Kay Martin Wants to Fuck Santa, Save on Wrapping Paper
"Come on Santa, Let's Have a Ball" starts with Kay Martin moaning, "Oh, oh Santa," more sensually than appropriate when addressing a man several centuries her senior. "Oh Santa, please don't stop," she implores, in what might be the R-rated follow-up to "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus."
It's finally Christmas Eve, and Martin bought some new lingerie to show off for Santa, who, as we really should remind ourselves throughout this song about Martin wanting a wild sleigh ride, is a happily married man. But Martin is so eager to be shot full of Christmas cheer that her "nightie is hanging on the wall." That would explain the album art:
Her Body Guards aren't doing a super great job.
The song's barely over a minute long, but that's far too long for her to retain even the slightest hint of subtlety -- the track ends with straight-up erotic moaning. It leads into "Santa's Doing the Horizontal Twist" which, if I have my '60s euphemisms correct, means sex. That's followed by "Santa's Going to Be Late Tonight," Martin's mea culpa for keeping Santa from making it to your house by distracting him with her feminine wiles. That's right, Martin had such epic sex with Santa she needed a three-song saga to record it.
You can read more from Mark or listen to his sexy take on "Silent Night" at his website.
For more from Mark, check out 5 Movies for Kids That Stole Their Plot From Adult Movies. And then check out 22 Shockingly Dark Lyrics in Otherwise Happy Songs.
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