OLD CHRISTMAS FRED:

Christmas time is here with its joys, stresses & bane,

Bringing the family together that we´ll never see again,

The kids, old aunts, gramps & then there´s dear old Fred,

Whom everyone thought was long gone & already dead,

But appears every Yule, washed, brushed & truly dusted,

Drinking too much, his jokes too dirty & not to be trusted,

Who he belongs to, everybody asks & yet nobody knows,

Known only as Uncle Fred & every Christmas up he shows.

He´s a miserly old sod & no gifts to anyone, none to be seen,

But receives cackling with two hands open, grasping & mean,

Always wearing Oxfam jumper with reindeer & Yuletide balls,

Down which gravy tumbles & Christmas pudding rolls & falls,

He´s bumptious, raucous, salacious & so extremely gummy,

Removing his teeth & frightening the kids, thinking it so funny,

Spits crumbs, talks with champing mouthful & slurps his soup,

Then belching like a pig, he says out loud, “I´m going for a poop”.

Hogging best chair by the fire, in funny hat & with mulled port,

He lolls, dribbles, then snores loud with shuddering snotty snort,

On waking with a shout, he demands his mince-pies, cake & tea,

Looking at the patch on his trousers says, “Is that tea, port or pee?”

Quite revolting is our once-a-year-Christmas- dear old Uncle Fred,

Who yearly, is plied by copious alcohol, gifts & is well & duly fed,

Then out of our lives he wends, burping, cursing & generously farting,

“Until next Christmas”, he says & we all sigh on his noisy departing.