Blow wind, blow
And go, mill, go
I heard the miller cry
But I don’t know why
He needs wind to grind
He’s clearly lost his
mind
I know he has corn
To grind before dawn
And I know it’s hectic
But the Mill is
electric
So, he should know
If the wind did blow
The sails would be
still
And it won’t turn the
mill
Are you wearing a sprig of mistletoe?
Are you hoping to meet
a beau?
And kiss him
passionately in the snow
An embrace to leave
you all aglow
Is that why you wear
the mistletoe?
I've always loved my Santa
In his red Santa hat
With his cheerful
demeanour
All hearty and fat
With his belly that
wobbles
Like a bowl full of
jelly
And he loves his
naughty
Little Miss Nelly
If you wake up and feel like hell,
And if you really feel quite unwell
Then that is the best
way for you to tell
That you really did
Christmas well
Well, I think it has happened
It is my darkest fear
Christmas is getting
earlier
Each and every year
When I was at the mall
today
I heard Bing Crosby
croon
“White Christmas”
And it’s still only
June
There isn’t any doubt or question
What caused this awful
indigestion
It wasn’t the five-course
lunch
Or all the sweets we
had to munch
It wasn’t the Lager
the Stout or the Shandy
It wasn’t the Wine the
Scotch or the Brandy
No, the culprit without
any doubts
Was the obligatory
spoonful of sprouts
Marie Christmas
Loved the season
And she loved it
For a special reason
For it was the time
She would see her beau
As he flew his sleigh
Going ho ho ho
