On the twelve days of Christmas my true-love gave to me
some very nice presents but now it’s February
and the twelve drummers drumming are driving me insane
and the neighbours keep complaining and I've got an aching brain
but at least the leaping lords have gone, they leapt over the wall
and my true-love’s presents would be fine if my house was not so small
We've only got two bedrooms and the drummers sleep in one
In the other are the dancing girls which sounds like lots of fun
but I have to share under the stairs with the milkmaids and the hoover
and what with the urns and the cow and all, there’s not much room to manoeuvre
At least they’re up at the crack of dawn and a few winks I can steal
Until the geese start cackling. Goose eggs for every meal?
And we can’t coax the partridge down from the pear tree – Lord, we’ve tried
and the constant drumming upset the doves who commited suicide
and the swans swam off, well who can blame them? Lord what a palava!
The calling birds and hens were freed by a man in a balaclava
The best present was the five gold rings which I sold for quite a lot.
Next year I'd like something useful, please.
Like a holiday somewhere hot.
by Roger Stevens