The first day after Christmas my true love
and I had a fight,
And so I chopped the pear tree down and
burned it just for spite.
Then with a single cartridge, I shot that
blasted partridge,
My true love, my true love, my true love gave
to me.
The second day after Christmas, I pulled on
the old rubber gloves,
And very gently wrung the necks of both the
turtle doves.
My true love, my true love, my true love gave
to me.
The third day after Christmas, my mother
caught the croup;
I had to use the three French hens to make
some chicken soup.
The four calling birds were a big mistake,
for their language was obscene.
The five gold rings were completely fake and
they turned my fingers green .
The sixth day after Christmas, the six laying
geese wouldn't lay,
I gave the whole darn gaggle to the
A.S.P.C.A.
On the seventh day what a mess I found,
All seven of the swimming swans had drowned.
My true love, my true love, my true love gave
to me.
The eighth day after Christmas, before they
could suspect,
I bundled up the eight maids a milking, nine
pipers piping, Ten ladies dancing, 'leven lords a leaping, Twelve drummers
drumming and sent them back collect.
I wrote my true love, "We are through,
love",
and I said in so many words,
"Furthermore your Christmas gifts were
for the birds!"
_______________________________
How was your Christmas?
Great reading Gregg, I once wrote my own "Twelve Days of Christmas" but I'm afraid it's unprintable.
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed the post very much,
Yvonne.