Twas The Month After Christmas
Twas the month after Christmas and all through the house
The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt
I said to myself, as I only can
So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
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