The Holiday Song - текст песни
The Holiday Song
Well sit right down my wicked son And let me tell you a story About the boy who fell from glory And how he was a wicked son
This ain't no holiday But it always turns out this way Here I am with my hand
He took his sister from his head And then painted her on the sheets And then rolled her up in grass and trees And they kissed 'till they were dead
This ain't no holiday But it always turns out this way Here I am, with my hand
Well sit right down my evil son And let me tell you a story
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