It’s January outside and it’s colder than hell…
But inside it’s warm, for pickin’ it’s swell..
We ain’t yet took down our ’17 Christmas tree…
For snow piles and icicles and cosmic debris…

Santa’s been gone for weeks now on end…
Accidentally left an elf here, the elf is my friend…
He plays drums and guitar and through walls he can see…
And we puffed on a corn cob full of cosmic debris…

They don’t play bluegrass or folk at the poles…
The north and the south each have their own roles…
Santa and workers work all day until three…
Then they send off and bend off on cosmic debris…

When my little elf friend was too soon called home…
We recorded some bluegrass of him and me… picking alone…
After hearing this music, finally Santa did see…
He ordered a banjo and some cosmic debris…

The elves all liked bluegrass upon hearing it play…
It made their work easy and quick passed the day…
Before too long now as soon we shall see…
They were all picking banjos made of cosmic debris…

The banjos had the power to evoke happiness, glee…
They soothed the emotions and fit under a Christmas tree…
Elves went on line for banjo tabs, FREE!
The North Pole now had bluegrass made of cosmic debris…

As the years soon passed, and time took it’s toll…
The bluegrass turned to newgrass and assumed other less likely roles…
Bela Fleck and the Flecktones played their jazz tinged hoooo-weeee!
And the world was affected by cosmic debris…

As the word got out about banjos and such…
No style was beyond the banjos magic touch…
And five strings were everywhere, everywhere you could see…
And all were influenced by the cosmic debris…

So, now all you children, pickin’ on your banjos…
Playing old time and bluegrass and only God knows…
Thank ye Earl Scruggs for the gift left to we…
Who struggle on with our banjos and cosmic debris…

Tom Arri, 1/6/2018