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 gave to me.
The second day after Christmas,
I pulled on the old rubber gloves,
and very gently wrung the necks
of both the turtledoves,
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 golden rings were completely fake
and they turned my fingers green.
The sixth day after Christmas,
the six laying hens wouldn't lay,
so I gave the whole darn gaggle
to the A.S.P.C.A.
On the seventh day, what a mess I found,
All seven to the swimming swans
had drowned.
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, eleven lords a-leaping,
and twelve drummers drumming
(Well actually I kept one of the drummers)
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."