"Wassail, wassail all over the town Our cup is white and our ale is brown" But huddled on this iron grate We poor and hungry curse our fate
CHORUS No wassail bowl for such as these No turkey scraps, no ale nor cheese This Christmas eve our hearts' desire Is a bottle of gin and a trashcan fire
Good Christian mind, as home you go With dreams of holly and mistletoe, That the holly bears a dreadful thorn For those who wake to a frozen dawn
Oh, where is he, that holy child Once born of Mary, meek and mild? And whither peace, goodwill to men Now and for evermore, amen?
All ye who dine with face aglow In Reginensi atrio Pray pause awhile at pleasure's door And sup some sorrow with the poor
"Wassail, wassail all over the town Our cup is white and our ale is brown" This cold and hunger, pain and care Sweet Jesus Christ, it's hard to bear!