The first day after Christmas,
My true love and I had a fight,
And so I chopped the pear tree down,
And burnt it, just for spite,
Then with a single cartridge,
I shot that blasted partridge,
My true love, my true love,
My true love gave to me.

The second day after Christmas,
I pulled on the old rubber gloves,
And very gently wrung the necks,
Of both the turtle doves.

The third day after Christmas,
My mother caught the croup,
I had to use the three French hens,
To make some chicken soup.

The four calling birds were a big mistake,
For their language was obscene,
The five golden rings were completely fake,
They turned my fingers green.

The sixth day after Christmas,
The six laying geese wouldn't lay,
So I sent the whole darn gaggle to,
The A.S.P.C.A.

The seventh day, what a mess I found,
The seven swans-a-swimming all had drowned,
My true love, my true love,
My true love gave to me.

The eighth day after Christmas,
Before they could suspect,
I bundled up the,
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords-a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids-a-milking,
(well, actually I kept one of the ladies),
And sent them back collect.

I wrote my true love,
"We are through, love!"
And I said in so many words,
"Furthermore your Christmas gifts were for the
(Soprani) Birds!"
(Soprani) Birds!!!
(Everyone else) Four calling birds,
Three french hens,
Two turtle doves
And a partridge in a pear tree!"