Xmas is coming

tis nearly the season to be jolly
of getting pissed and being a wally
eating to much and getting fat
and asking why the hell they gave you that

the pressies you buy end up in the bin
the shortbread goes back into the tin
the tree comes down and the needles remain
cos hoovering the buggers up is a pain

you look in your wallet and all that you find
are cobwebs and mothballs and orange peel rind
the singers and kids have bled you dry
you hang your head and start to cry

your head is splitting your trousers bulge
its your own bloody fault you decided to indulge
only six months to go before summer is here
and you show off your body as you walk down the pier

so out comes the bike that your aunt mabel gave
and you work your body into an early grave
trying to get back your girlish figure
that all your indulgences have disfigured

so next year when you decide to rejoice
the life of christ and the turkey so moist
think on before you have that vodka and fanta
cos next time you could end up fat like santa