by Nick Gisburne
I’m allergic to Christmas, it’s always been true
And each year the symptoms come back, like the flu
The ear-ache from hearing the same Christmas tunes
And lip-strain from blowing up endless balloons
There’s nothing on telly, it’s all the same shit
So Christmas can fuck off, I’m cancelling it
I’m allergic to Christmas, the sprouts make me sick
The pigs wrapped in blankets, like skins on old dick
What kind of a monster eats parsnips for fun?
Or stuffing balls scorched by the heat of the sun?
The gravy’s like something leaked out of an arse
The best thing to do is abandon this farce
I’m allergic to Christmas, and starting this year
I’m taking my medicine - beer and more beer
A 24-pack of strong lager each day
Will keep all the unwanted callers at bay
This Christmas it won’t be the dinner you knew
No turkey, just re-heated lamb vindaloo
I’m allergic to Christmas, I make my own cards
For glitter I grind down some sharp metal shards
The snow is asbestos, crushed under my heel
The dead robin red-breast? I killed it - that’s real
The glue’s full of chemical solvents, all banned
Don’t touch it, you’ll burn half the skin off your hand
I’m allergic to Christmas, the people are worst
The grandma whose septic appendix won’t burst
Your uncle who’s constantly rubbing his knees
And picking at sores laced with fungal disease
The kids, little bastards who kick you and scream
Don’t wriggle so much when you scald them with steam
I’m allergic to Christmas, so piss off back home
I don’t want a gallon of cheap shaving foam
I’ve got enough bath soap to scrub down the moon
I won’t need more stripy socks any time soon
You knew what I wanted, I’ve got none of that
Don’t come back next year, you incompetent twat
I’m allergic to Christmas, just leave me alone
You’ll only sit stupidly glued to your phone
I don’t want your smiles and I don’t want your tat
I will not be wearing a comedy hat
Don’t argue, it’s over, stop asking me why
I’ve burned all the presents, I hope you all die
