It was Christmas Day in the workhouse
The one day of the year
The paupers hearts were happy
Their bellies full of beer
Then in strode the Workhouse Master
Within those stony walls
He cried: 'A Merry Christmas'
The paupers anwered 'Balls'
This enraged the Workhouse Master
Who swore by all his gods
You'll have no Christmas pudding
You load of rotten sods
Then up stood one old pauper
His face as bold as brass
'We don't want your Christmas pudding
You can stuff it up your arse'.