This year it is our turn to do the Nativity,
And everyone is slack,
We have rehearsed for two weeks now,
So I’m not going to take all the flack.
Miss Twit, as I call her, is on the piano,
Waving her arms like a bird,
Her ‘arrangement’ of Holly and Ivy
Is nothing less than absurd.
Lines have been learnt, that is clear,
From some all the way to the park,
Others seem scared of the words themselves,
I hope we finish before it gets dark.
Mary is holding Jesus by the head,
And Joseph will not close his mouth,
The head shepherd keeps kicking Gabriel
And her knickers keep heading South.
I’ve already had three mothers come and complain,
‘Does he really have to be a sheep’,
Madame, your son is a natural ram,
Intellectually, he’s just as deep.
Oh lord, we’re only on Little Donkey,
And my head is about to split,
I’ll finish up soon and go down the pub,
Blame anything wrong on Miss Twit.
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