The Grinch sat in his office, and sang old Christmas songs,
Why, I can use these melodies to sell old jars and bongs,
And all these drums of old road grit, I’ll scent and put in bottles,
And call them Christmas bath salts, although they will cause mottles.
And sweets and cakes and mince meat pies,
I’ll package up with gaudy dyes,
And Ealing films and X-box games I’ll deck with boughs of holly,
And kitchen stuff for frumpy mums I’ll wrap and pack quite jolly.
For Christmas is the time of stuff, of obligation, good and strong,
So I will sell you lots of junk, to help you pass those hours long,
With nephews, cousins and great uncles,
And smelly aunts with big carbuncles.
So, over-eat and be excessive,
On with the trad and fuck progressive,
The Grinch salutes your Christmas cheer,
And hopes you’ll have it every year.
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