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 turns out this way
Here I am with my hand

He took his sister from his head, and then painted her on the sheet
And then he rolled her up in grass and trees, and they kissed 'til 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, no, 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