The Twelve Days After Christmas

The first day after Christmas,

my true love and I had a fight.
And so i chopped the pear tree down,
and burned it just for spite.
Then with a single cartridge, I shot that blasted partridge...
My true love gave to me.
The second day after Christmas,
I pulled on my old rubber gloves
And very gently rung the necks of both the turtle doves...
My true love gave to me.
The third day after Christmas, my mother caught the croup;
I had to use the three French hens to
make some chicken soup.
The four calling birds were a big mistake,
for their language was obscene.
The five gold rings were completely fake,
and they turned my fingers green.
The sixth day after Christmas,
the six geese wouldn't lay;
So i gave the whole worthless gaggle to the ASPCA.
On the seventh day, what a mess i found:
All seven of the swimming swans had drowned...
That my true love gave to me.
The eighth day after Christmas, before they could suspect,
I bundled up the eight maids a-milking,
the nine pipers piping,
The ten ladies dancing, the eleven lords a-leeping
And the twelve drummers drumming,
and sent them back collect.
I wrote my true love, "We are through, love,"
And i said in so many words,
"Furthermore, your gifts were really for the birds
... Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree."