That god bloke floating up on high
sent his son down here to die.
To cleanse us of our ‘sins’ it’s said
and so we killed the bugger dead
but still at Xmas time each year
we celebrate, with lots of cheer.
It’s his birthday – “gifts for all”
is the capitalistic call.
We don’t care that in a little while
we wiped away his godly smile;
we nailed the bludger – he was crossed,
we said our sins were all now lost.
He took away the guilt of deeds
built up from gluttony’s needs.
He gave us all a nice clean slate
he came with love instead of hate.
So we nailed the bludger to a cross;
we really showed him who was boss!
But now we celebrate his birth
and wonder what the gifts are worth.
‘Cos he was born, it’s gifts galore,
then for his death there’s even more.
And these things all, we celebrate
on what’s a Pagan special date.
We stole their day, we stole their clown;
it’s Pagan chimneys he comes down.
All dressed in Coca Cola’s gear,
bringing capitalism ever near.
Who care about god’s only son,
we’re here for presents and some fun.