12.25.2003
 
The Twelve 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 those stupid turtle doves.

The third day after Christmas, my mother caught the croup
I had to use the three French hens
To make her some chicken soup.

The four calling birds were a big mistake
For their language was obscene
The five golden rings were completely fake
And they turned my fingers putrid green.

The sixth day after Christmas, the six laying geese wouldn't lay
So I sent the whole darn gaggle to
The neighborhood A.S.P.C.A.

The seventh day, what a mess I had found
The seven swans-a-swimming all 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
Twelve drummers drumming
Eleven pipers piping
Ten lords-a-leaping
Nine ladies dancing
Eight maids-a-milking
(well, actually I kept *one* of the ladies)
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
(Soprani) Birds!"

Four calling birds,
Three french hens,
Two turtle doves
And a partridge in a pear tree!"

(from Laughnet.net)

. . . . . posted:||10:41 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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