I glommed three nips of ale and gin
On Christmas day. . .get blitzed this way.
I glommed three nip more ale and gin
On Christmas day, in the morning.

Some say ’tis sin to swig freely
On Christmas day. . .get ripped this way.
I say, ’tis gin I swig freely
On Christmas day, in the morning.

A Bloody Mary and Sidecar there
On Christmas day. . .get tips’ this way,
A Bloody Mary and Sidecar fare
On Christmas day, in the morning.

Stay witless on that swigging spree
On Christmas day, just swig away.
Stay witless near that Christmas tree
On Christmas day, in the morning.

OK, ale, gin—they’re best when frig-
id, Christmas day; in fridge they stay,
Till ale and gin out wrenched and swigged.
On Christmas day, in the morning.

I can’t tell—did I hear bells ring
On Christmas day? It’s diff[icult] to say.
Is it bells in my head did ring
On Christmas day, in the morning?

I grab Red Label, am havin’ a drink
On Christmas day, this shit’s OK!
I grab Black Label, am havin’ a drink
On Christmas day, in the morning.

I squall a “skol” then burp and drink
On Christmas day, the shitfaced way.
I fall and roll, see scourge of pink
Pachyderms because I’m roaring.

But still my arm rehoists again
On Christmas day. Shit! go away.
They’ll cause me harm; they’re roisterin’!
They skip away when I’m snoring.