The Scots they went and banned Christmas
Up until nineteen fifty- eight
It seemed such a brilliant idea to me
It’s a holiday I fucking hate.

The Kirk had decided, in wisdom
People shouldn’t enjoy life too much
Not now. Not with Christ in his stable
Not even that boy with one crutch

Now, the Scots they love a good party
Said okay, we’ll give Christmas a miss
There is nothing to do in the New Year
We’ll go out and get properly pissed

Don’t worry about wrapping presents
Just take some coal to the door
As long as you get your first foot in
Remember it’s Scotland, we’re poor

The English can keep bluidy Christmas
Who wants to eat turkey and stuff
Just gie us some Haggis and Whisky
You can keep all your sodding plum duff

We’ll hae a sing song with oor Rabbie
Then party away ’til it’s dawn
Dancing along to the Bagpipes
Christmas. Well. It’s just a big yawn.

So, give thanks to those pious wee bastards
As you arise on New -Years Day morn
When your stomach feels like it’s been cut with a knife
And your head it is all full of thorns

Say, Jesus!
I promise, never again
To do all this terrible stuff
But thank you dear Lord, for saving me
From Dickens, and all of his guff.

PJ.
(c) 2024