It was Christmas day in the workhouse, and the orphans were standing about;
And the overseer, a cruel man, had threatened to throw them out.
The sky was dark and heavy, and snow lay on the ground,
And the overseer, a cruel man, cried, "Not another sound!"

Then he sat down at his table filled with bread and meat,
And jam and jelly and pudding, and all for him to eat.
The orphans they were starving and tears came to their eyes
As they watched him gobbling turkey and potatoes and fresh mince pies.

Their bellies ached with hunger, and their hearts cried out for food,
But the overseer, a cruel man, would not do what he should.
Till at last, a starving orphan went up with cap in hand,
And stood beside his table and faced him, man to man.

"What do you want, you little wretch? Why are you standing there?"
"Please, sir, I'd like some pudding, if you've a piece to spare.
We've got to have some food, sir, or it might mean our end;
And you've really got enough, sir, to fill the mouths of ten."

The overseer was angry, and his eyes began to shine.
He bellowed, "Get your own food! You're getting none of mine!"
The child was on his knees now, and these words came from his soul,
"You can take your fuckin' puddin' and shove it up your hole!"

I thank you.

Seamus