The Holiday Song

Well sit right down my wicked son

And let me tell you a story

About the boy who fell from glory

And how he was a wicked sonThis ain't no holiday

But it always turn out this way

Here I am, with my handHe took his sister from his head

And then painted her on the sheets

And then rolled her up in grass and trees

And they kissed till they were deadThis ain't no holiday

But it always turns out this way

Here I am, with my handWell sit right down my evil son

And let me tell you a story

About the boy who fell from glory

And how he was a wicked sonThis ain't no holiday, oh no

But it always turns out this way

Here I am, with my handThis ain't no holiday

But it always turns out this way

Here I am, with my hand