þetta er c/p saga, sem ég verð að segja að ég man ekki hvar ég fékk, ég fann þetta fyrir ári og setti þetta á síðuna mína og mig langaði svo að posta þessu hér því þetta er náttúrulega um Foo fighters, þetta er snilldar jólasaga.

Every Foo - Down in Foo-ville Liked singing a-lot
But the Grohl, - King of Foo-ville, - Did NOT!
The Grohl hated singalongs. The whole touring season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all. May have been that his ego was two sizes too small.

But, Whatever the reason, His ego or shoes, He stood there at Manchester, hating the Foos,
Staring down from his stage with a sour, Grohly frown at the multiple lighters below in their town.
For he knew every Foo down in Foo-ville below. Had been learning the words in time for the show.
“And they're reading their songsheets!” he snarled with a sneer. “Tomorrow is Newcastle! It's practically here!”
Then he growled, his Grohl fingers nervously drumming, “I MUST find a way to keep the singers from coming!”
For, tomorrow, he knew…

…All the Foo girls and boys. Would wake up bright and early and prepare to make noise!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!
Then the Foos, young and old, would go down to the gig. And they'd jig! And they'd jig!
And they'd JIG! JIG! JIG! JIG! They would start on the crowd surfing, and troubling Dave by making the whole thing seem like a rave.

And THEN They'd do something he liked least of all! Every Foo down in Foo-ville, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, crowd surfers a flinging.They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Foos would start singing!
They'd sing! And they'd sing! AND they'd SING! SING! SING! SING!
And the more the Grohl thought of the Foo-Audience-Sing.
The more the Grohl thought,“I must stop this whole thing!
”Why for too many years I've put up with it now I MUST stop the audience singing! …But HOW?“

Then he got an idea! An awful idea! THE GROHL GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
”I know just what to do!“ The Grohl said so terribly proud. I will turn up the music incredibly loud.
And he chuckled, and clucked, with Grohly glee,
the audience will then only hear me”

“All I need is a songsheet…” The Grohl looked around. But songsheets are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old Grohl…? No! The Grohl simply said,“If I can't find the words I'll invent them instead !”
So that being done and that being said he made up the words off the top of his head.

THEN He loaded some bags And some old empty sacks. On a ramshakle sleigh that he found in the back.
Then the Grohl said,“I'm off!” And the sleigh started down.
Toward the homes where the Foos Lay a-snooze in their town.
All their windows were dark. Quiet fog filled the air. All the Foos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care
When he came to the first house in the square. “This is stop number one,” The old Grohly Claus hissed
And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.
Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight hole. But if Santa could do it, then so could the Grohl
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two. Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue
Where the little Foo songsheets all hung in a row. “These songsheets,” he grinned, “are the first things to go!”

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most inviting, Around the whole room, and he took every Foo item!
Posters! And tickets! Songsheets! Albums! Hats! T shirts! Stickers! And drums!
And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grohl, very nimbly, Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!
Then he stuffed all the gear up the chimney unheard. “And NOW!” grinned the Grohl, “I will stuff up the words!” And the Grohl grabbed words, and he started to shove When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small Foo! Little Cindy-Lou Foo, a rock toddler of two..

The Grohl had been caught by this little Foo daughter. Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.
She stared at the Grohl and said, “Uncle Dave, why, ”Why are you taking our songsheets? WHY?“

But, you know, that old Grohl was so smart and so slick He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
”Why, my sweet little tot,“ the Anti Dave lied, ”There's a typo on Breakout that must be put right.
“So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear. ”I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here.“

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.
And when Cindy-Lou Foo went to bed with her cup, HE went to the chimney and stuffed the words up!

And the one set of lyrics. That he left with such glee. Was a Soundgarden songbook that he just didn't need.


Then he did the same thing To all other Foos'
Leaving lyrics. Much too outdated to use

It was quarter past dawn…All the Foos still a-bed. All the Foos, still a-snooze When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with their posters! Their T shirts! Their albums! Their songsheets! Their stickers! Their hats and their drums!

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mount Crumpit, He rode to the tiptop to dump it!
”Pooh-pooh to the Foos!“ he was grohl-ish-ly humming. ”They're finding out now that no singing is coming!
“They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do! ”Their mouths will hang open and then they'll get stuck
“Then all the Foos down in Foo-ville will shut the fuck up!”

“That's a thing,” grinned the Grohl “That I simply must hear!”
So he paused. And the Grohl put a hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the crowd. It started in low. Then it got very loud…

But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry! It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!
He stared down at Foo-ville! The Grohl popped his eyes! Then he shook! What he heard was a shocking surprise!

Every Foo down in Foo-ville, the tall and the small, Was singing! Without any songsheets at all!
He HADN'T stopped the singing from coming! IT CAME! Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Grohl, with his Grohl-feet ice-cold in the snow, Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?
They came without songsheets through the fog and the rain! They came to the concert, they came just the same.!
And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grohl thought of something he hadn't before!
”Maybe Foo fans,“ he thought,”don't find my singing a bore. Maybe their singing..perhaps..means a little bit more!"


And what happened then…?
Well…in Foo-ville they say
That the Grohl's insecurity
Melted away!
And the minute his heart
didn't feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load
through the bright morning
light
And he brought back the songsheets!
And laid them before us
And he…

…HE HIMSELF…!
The Grohl led the Foo chorus!