The Holiday Song

Well sit right down my wicked son And let me tell you a story About the boy who fell from glory And how he was a wicked son This ain't no holiday But it always turn out this way Here I am, with my hand He took his sister from his head And then painted her on the sheets And then rolled her up in gra*s and trees And they kissed till they were dead This ain't no holiday But it always turns out this way Here I am, with my hand Well sit right down my evil son And let me tell you a story About the boy who fell from glory And how he was a wicked son This ain't no holiday, oh no But it always turns out this way Here I am, with my hand This ain't no holiday But it always turns out this way Here I am, with my hand