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, my true love, my true love gave to me

The second day after Christmas, I pulled on the old rubber gloves
And very gently wrung the necks of both the turtle doves
My true love, my true love, 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 laying geese wouldn't lay
I gave the whole darn gaggle to the A. S. P.C.A.
On the seventh day what a mess I found
All seven of the swimming swans had drowned
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me

The eighth day after Christmas, before they could suspect,
I bundled up the eight maids a milking, nine pipers piping,
Ten ladies dancing, 'eleven lords a leaping,
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 Christmas gifts were for the birds!"