And they had one for New Years' Eve:

You'd better watch out
You'd better not try
Travelin' about I'm tellin' you why:
Sodden clods are painting the town.

They're wrecking the bars
They're starting street fights
They're having one of their naughtiest nights:
Sodden clods are painting the town.

Blythe New Years' drivers pickled
In alcoholic brine
Will gaily bounce off walls and trees
To strains of "Auld Lang Syne."

So...

You'd better stay home
And drink your own rye
You're crazy to roam
It's obvious why:
Sodden clods are painting the town