Letras
Good day…
This is a festive message…
For you.
Yes. You, you absolute… item.
Yo, it's Christmas Day, crack open the cheer
Pulled a cracker, guess what, mate — you're still here
Got a face like a damp old sponge in a sock
And a brain that took lunch round about '98 o'clock
You walk in the room and the vibe goes thin
Like milk that's seen things it shouldn't have seen
Dress sense screaming "charity shop dare"
Confidence high, talent… elsewhere
Merry bleedin' Christmas, you glorious case
You're a five-star mess with a one-star face
I'd wrap you in tinsel, shove you up the tree
But even the lights said "nah, not me"
You talk absolute fucking… nonsense
Like a pub bore powered by mild arrogance
Got opinions stacked taller than your skill
Which is short, wide, and standing very still
You're the sort of bloke who'd nick your own pint
Then argue for hours that it tasted "alright"
If brains were jam, you'd need a loan
Still, somehow… we love you, you absolute cone
Merry bleedin' Christmas, you festive disgrace
A walking swear-word in a human-shaped space
I'd buy you a gift but I spent it on beer
Which has more warmth, intelligence, and cheer
Honestly…
If effort were gold, you'd be tin-foil at best
If wit were a muscle, you'd pull it at rest
You're not thick — that's too simple, too kind
You're… artistically vacant of mind
But here's the thing, you ridiculous sod
Through all of your nonsense and gifts from God
You show up, you laugh, you take every hit
Like a champion gobsh— legendary spirit
So raise a glass to the worst and the best
To friendship built purely on taking the piss
Insults like hugs, but slightly more rude
Merry Christmas, mate — now pass me the food
You absolute…
…treasure.