Sunday, December 23, 2007

My favourite Christmas poem

Many years ago when I was a nipper, my granddad would recite this when he'd had a few.
It was Christmas Day in the workhouse,
The season of good cheer,
The paupers they were merry,
Their bellies full of beer.

The arrogant workhouse master
As he strolled along the halls,
Wished them all a merry Christmas,
The paupers answered, 'balls'!

This made the master angry,
And he swore by all the gods,
He'd take away their Christmas pudding
The dirty rotten sods.

Then out spake one old pauper,
With a face as bold as brass,
Said, you can take your Christmas pudding,
And shove it up your arse.

Every child should have a grandfather who can come out with gems of folkloric wisdom such as this.


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