Another Christmas Song
Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell, this fine morning.
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone.
Old man, he's a mountain.
Old man, he's an island.
Old man, he's a-walking says
``I'm going to call, call all my children home.''
Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning ---
the beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town.
Old man, he's calling for his supper.
Calling for his whisky.
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah ---
calling all his children round.
Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming.
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory.
Everyone is from somewhere ---
even if you've never been there.
So take a minute to remember the part of you
that might be the old man calling me.
How many wars you're fighting out there, this winter's morning?
Maybe it's always time for another Christmas song.
Old man he's asleep now.
Got appointments to keep now.
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving ---
proving that the blood is strong.
We recommend: Hellnation
Where is grandma? It's time to eat...
Perhaps in the bathroom, trying to excrete...
She's not on the throne, where can she be?
Maybe in the living room, watching TV...
Not in here either, where did she go?
Someone find her soon, the roast is getting cold...
OK - no one panic - we musn't dispair...
I've got a feeling she's somwhere upstairs...
Now I'm getting mad - where's that senile loon?
The only place left, is in the bedroom
Open the door, hear the wretched snore...
AHAAA!!
GRANDMA'S SLEEPING
GRANDMA'S SLEEPING