Lyrics

The X in Xmas is a substitute crucifix for Christ A one, two A one, two, three, four! No Christmas for John Quays No Christmas for John Quays No Christmas for John Quays No Christmas for John Quays Well the powders reach you And the powders teach you But when you find that they can't reach you There is no Christmas for junky He thinks he is More interesting Than the world Ah but buying cigs Puts him in a whirl I'll have a packet of three-five fives Will you fucking put the monitors on for Christ's sake? I'll have a packet of three-five fives I'll have 20 of those over there I'll have 20 No.6 for a headache And I've had enough right there, stop [?] Good King Wenceslas last looked out Silly bugger, he fell out He spits in the sky It falls in his eye And then he gets to sitting Talking to his kitten Talking about Frankie Lymon Tell me why is it so? Tell me why is it so? Out of his face with the Idle Race Out of the room with this tune Although the skins are thin He knows it's up to him To go out or stay in Oh, I'll stay in I'll stay in, I'll stay in, I'll stay in, I'll stay in You, me X-Mas X-Mas Well the powders reach you And the powders teach you But when you find they can't reach you There is no Christmas for John Quays No girls No curls Just the traffic passing by Bye bye bye bye bye bye bye bye One, two, three, four No Christmas for John Quays No Christmas for John Quays No Christmas for John Quays No Christmas for John Quays