Days after Christmas
The first day after Christmas
My true love and I had a fight
And so I chopped the pear tree down
And burnt 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.
On 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 golden rings were completely fake and turned my fingers green.
The sixth day after Christmas
The six laying geese wouldn’t lay
So I sent the whole darn gaggle to the
A. S. P. C. A.
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me.
On the seventh day, what a mess I found The seven swans-a-swimming all had drowned.
The eighth day after Christmas
Before they could suspect
I bundled up the
Eight maids-a-milking
Nine ladies dancing
Ten lords-a-leaping
Eleven pipers piping
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!”
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves
And a partridge in a pear tree!”
(1 ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½ΠΎΠΊ, ΡΡΠ΅Π΄Π½Π΅Π΅: 5.00 ΠΈΠ· 5)