That awkward moment when you break up with your "true" love after Christmas. What do you do with the gifts? 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, Eleven 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!"
Thanks For Visiting
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