In your pomp and all your glory, you're a poorer man than me.
Roll us down the mountain and I'm sure the fatman would win.
I'll pour a cup to you my darling, raise it up, say Cheerio.
To tell the truth, I'd scare me too.
The Christmas spirit is not what you drink.
Hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes aired at your tiny skull.