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 son

This ain't no holiday

But it always turn out this way

Here I am, with my hand

He 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 dead

This ain't no holiday

But it always turns out this way

Here I am, with my hand

Well 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 son

This ain't no holiday, oh no

But it always turns out this way

Here I am, with my hand

This ain't no holiday

But it always turns out this way

Here I am, with my hand