On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A Japanese transistor radio.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Green polka-dot pajamas, And a Japanese transistor radio. (It's a Nakashuma.)
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A calendar book with the name of my insurance man, Green polka-dot pajamas, And a Japanese transistor radio. (Its the Mark IV model. That's the one that's discontinued.)
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A simulated alligator wallet, A calendar book with the name of my insurance man, Green polka-dot pajamas, And a Japanese transistor radio. (And it comes in a leatherette case with holes in it, so you can listen right through the case.)
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A statue of a lady, with a clock where her stomach ought to be, A simulated alligator wallet, A calendar book with the name of my insurance man, Green polka-dot pajamas, And a Japanese transistor radio. (And it has a wire with a thing on one end that you can stick in your ear, and a thing on the other end that you can't stick anywhere, because its bent.)
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A hammered aluminum nutcracker, And all that other stuff, And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A pink satin pillow that says San Diego, with fringe all around it, And all that other stuff, And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: An indoor plastic birdbath, And all that other stuff, And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A pair of teakwood shower clogs, And all that other stuff, And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A chromium combination manicure scissors and cigarette lighter, And all that other stuff, And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: An automatic vegetable slicer that works when you see it on television, but not when you get it home, And all that other stuff, And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, although it may seem strange, On the twelfth day of Christmas, I'm going to exchange: An automatic vegetable slicer that works when you see it on television, but not when you get it home, A chromium combination manicure scissors and cigarette lighter, A pair of teakwood shower clogs, An indoor plastic birdbath, A pink satin pillow that says San Diego, with fringe all around it, A hammered aluminum nutcracker, A statue of a lady, with a clock where her stomach ought to be, A simulated alligator wallet, A calendar book with the name of my insurance man, Green polka-dot pajamas, And a Japanese transistor radio.
