At Christmas time you write your cards

Sending them both near and far

When you think you've done the lot

You realise there's one you've forgot


You send to uncles, aunts and mates

People who could have been first dates

They'll wing to people overseas

Send 'em news of what you've seen


A bloke you know lives in Paris

He works in a grubby garage

He'll sometimes send a card to you

But contact's far between and few


Distant cousins in Atlanta

A pal of yours in Nebraska

There's those geezers near Murmansk

None of whom will give you thanks


Writing cards gets on your wick

The process nearly makes you sick

Up-to-date your address book ain't

The whole thing darn near makes you faint


The Christmas circus grinds along

Like a brainless dog in a stupid song

The best thing is to grab some Holly

Drink some gin and get quite jolly