|Remember, it's better to give than it is to receive. Except for oral sex of course.|
Some people travelled a fuck of a long way to that one-off gig......
The Night Before Christmas
When even the mouse was drinking cold beer
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there
The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Exile CDs danced in their heads.
After 20 cold beers, I was having a piss
Carefully aiming, so that I didn't miss
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I pissed on my feet trying to see what was the matter.
I quickly finished having a slash
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash
It was too fucking dark to see anything
But I heard a voice nasally sing
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a Stingray Corvette, and eight tiny reindeer
Then I recognised that voice in the dark
As it carried on singing Down In The Park
More rapid than teenagers with wank mags they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name
"Now Slasher! now Wanker! now Poofter and Nick Kent!
On Vomit! on Putrid! on Donger and Shithead!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
Hurry up, you bastards, or I'll have your balls!"
Cracking his whip (which was made in Australia)
He got poor Donger on his genitalia
So up to the house-top the reindeer they flew
With the 'vette full of toys, and St Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, the driver he goofed
And crash-landed his 'Vette right there on my roof
As I did up my fly, and was turning around
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed in black leather, the Telekon way
Despite all the make-up, he didn't look gay
A bundle of CDs he had flung on his back
And he looked like he'd been getting high on good crack.
His eyes - how they twinked in the light of the fire
His cheeks were white, like a spooky vampire
He was wearing eyeliner, and lipstick too
And the hair on his head was a shocking bright blue
He wore huge Exile boots, they looked quite a treat
But he cursed the bastards for killing his feet
I saw his tattoo as he bent over his sack
The names of 500 shags, inscribed on his back.
He was a little bit hungry, so he gave a shout
As he spotted the sausages the kids had left out
He quickly drank down the glass of coke
And when it was gone he finally spoke
"You've been very naughty this year - quite amiss
Your stupid website's been taking the piss"
No autobiography was given to me
I got a lump of coal, and an old NME
Then back off to the chimney he quickly made
And disappeared faster than Grey Parade
But I heard him exclaim, as he buggered off quick
"That'll teach you, you bastard, your site makes me sick!"