Holes are leaking pounds from our mother's purse
Holes so big our gifts are built from doles
Every Yule her taste is just getting worse
Gifting clothes with motifs from the Pole

We don't get gloves
And we're not getting shoes
We just get sweaters
They're giving us the blues
We don't want them
But can't throw them away
Mom's Christmas sweaters
They are the worst, worse than her tattoos

Knitting she took up after quitting porn
The fabric of her work is tried and true
Wearing them on Christmas day, then burn
Pictures of hung elfs are likely too

Get a fast shove
From all our's field of view
We hide the sweaters
It's all a deja vu
We will burn them
But can't on Christmas Day
Mom's Christmas sweaters
They have a burst limited purview

Limited purview
(Limited purview)
(Limited purview)

Repeat Chorus