Twas Christmas day in the Workhouse
The paupers gathered for their repastpoke a veteran of the Khyber Pass
Parson to bless them all

The meagre dinner was eaten
In sullen cleneaniest
Seated on benches heard

The Beadle in waistcoat and hose
Bellowed for order "Tis time to thank the parish".
Afore you gets your pudding

Up spoke a a battle scarred veteran of the Khyber Pass
We do not want your Christmas pudding
You can shove it up your Arse.


This has a resemblance to Kipling's version which remains a vague memory of my grandfather's recitation.