by Cyril Tawney
The time has come for festivity For Christmas pudding and revelry But as I passed out the other night I heard a small voice next to me:
Chorus: There are no lights on our Christmas tree We must not spoil the telly-vee No party games, no mistletoe Just whistle “Wenceslas”, and out you go.
'Bout once a year I become a square I love to feel the tinsel in my hair I love to hear the songs of days gone by But dad and me we don't see eye-to-eye.
[Chorus]
The Christmas crackers from Uncle Alf They lie unopened upon the shelf Dad has forbid them but we're hoping he Won't notice one more bang in Laramy.
Some carol singers came to our door- I've never seen dad so mad before. He grabbed the leader by the coat And tried to ram his lantern down his throat.
When I grow up and become a man There'll be no television in my plan With laughter gay my house will ring I never want to hear my children sing:
