The Twelve Days After Christmas

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
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me.

On 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
And 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.

On the seventh day, what a mess I found
The seven swans-a-swimming all had drowned
(I think there's a "my true love gave to me" in here somewhere)

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

(Everyone else)
Four calling birds, Three french hens, Two turtle doves
And a partridge in a pear tree!"