A Brief Musical Interlude

Our staff here at the Richardson-Sloane Special Collections Center celebrate the winter holidays each year by exchanging cards, small gifts, mailing cards to our wonderful volunteers, and, in one unfortunate case, writing new lyrics to an old holiday song.

Here is this season’s effort.  Happy Holidays!


I Want a Genealogy for Christmas
(to be sung to the tune of I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas by John Rox)

I want a genealogy for Christmas
Only famous, high-born kin will do
Don’t want the facts, no dinky simple folk
I want a genealogy that will make my neighbors choke

I want a genealogy for Christmas
I don’t think that will be too hard, do you?
You don’t have to slog through records proven true
Just use those freebie websites–
That’s the easy thing to do.

I can see me now at Christmas parties,
Bragging on the stair
Oh what envy and surprise
When I direct their eyes
To all the famous people listed there!

I want a long anCEStor list for Christmas
Only blue-blooded, famous ones will do
No laborers, no common Joes.
I only want Civil War heroes
And a lot of royalty would suit me, too!

Mom says our family were ordinary men
She doesn’t get that bloodlines are the next big hottest trend!

There’s lots of people out there with regal family trees
I’d bet they’d all jump at the chance to add a nut like me . . .

I can see me now at the DAR–
I could be the Chair!
Oh, it’ll just take enterprise
And just a few white lies
To connect me to the people listed there

I want a genealogy for Christmas
Only famous, high-born kin will do
Don’t want just folks, Don’t care what Grandma says
I only like kings, dukes and duchesses
And I know the duchesses were like me, too!

(posted—and written—by Sarah)

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3 Responses to A Brief Musical Interlude

  1. Adrian says:

    Oh, good work! Very funny!

  2. Tana says:

    How clever! I enjoyed your genealogy song, Sarah!

  3. swesson says:

    Thank you (taking a bow)!

    The second part of this annual holiday ‘gift’ is my traditional promise to not sing it myself . . .


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