John McCullagh December 24, 2006
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On the first day of Christmas, my true love said to me
We were right to buy fresh turkey and a proper Christmas tree.
 
On the second day of Christmas, much laughter could be heard
As we tucked into the turkey, a most delicious bird.
 
On the third day of Christmas, we had guests from right next door
The turkey tasted just as good as it did the days before.
 
On the fourth day of Christmas, with the in-laws, as of old
We finished off the Christmas pud – and served the turkey cold.
 
On the fifth day of Christmas, outside the snow flakes flurried
But we were nice and warm inside, and ate the turkey curried.
 
On the sixth day of Christmas, the festive spirit died
The children fought and bickered and we ate the turkey fried.
 
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love he did wince
As he sat down at the table and was offered turkey mince.
 
On the eighth day of Christmas, our cat had run for shelter
When I served up turkey pancakes, with a glass of Alka Seltzer.
 
On the ninth day of Christmas, by lunchtime Dad was blotto
The only way, he reckoned, he could take my turkey risotto!
 
On the tenth day of Christmas, the only drink was homebrew
Not strong enough to help digest, those plates of turkey stew.
 
On the eleventh day of Christmas, the tree’s pines they were moulting
The sweet mince pies were hard and dry, the turkey was revolting.
 
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love licked his lips
The guests were gone, the turkey too, we dined on fish and chips!
 
 

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