A New Year's Eve Carol

Well you'd better watch out
You'd better not try
Traveling about, I'm telling 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.

Blithe New Year's 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.