I knew of two sisters whose name it was Christmas. And one was named Dawn of course the other one was named Eve. I wonder if they grew up hating the season. Of the good will that lasts till the Feast of St. Stephen. For that is the time to eat drink and be merry. 'Til the beer is all spilled and the whiskey is flowed. And the whole family tree you neglected to bury. Are feeding their faces until they explode. [Chorus:]. There'll be laughter and tears over Tia Marias. Mixed up with that drink made from girders. And it's all we've got left as you draw your last breath. And it's nice for the kids as you've finally got rid of them. In the St Stephen's Day Murders. Uncle is garglin' a heart-breaking air. While the babe in his arms pulls out all that remains of his hair. And we're not drunk enough yet to dare criticize. The great big kipper tie he's about to baptize. His gin-flavoured whispers and kisses of sherry. His best crimble shirt flung out over the shop. While the lights from the Christmas tree blow up the telly. His face closes in like an old cold pork chop. And the carcass of the beast left over from the feast. May still be found haunting the kitchen. And there's life in it yet we may live to regret. When the ones that we poisoned stop twitchin'