I woke up Christmas morning, all the presents neath the tree
I tripped and broke my nose, and then blood did flow from me
I cursed the bloody presents, they'd left out for the dog
He'd opened every one of them, and left a yuletide log
I trod in it, which made me fall, and land upon my face
I F***ing hate these Christmas gifts, strewn around the place
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem