The workhouse door is open and
you know that Christmas comes,
the sons of sons of father's mums all
congregate and with
not a *** to **** in,
with one voice all begin to sing,
'Oh tidings of comfort and joy'
comfort the poor boy 'cause he ain't
got a bean
not seen a meal for a week,
see more
see more
take a peek through the workhouse door.

And for some and sometimes for
more than some
Christmas is just another chore to do
another happiness to struggle through.
'comfort and joy'