It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the trunk tank, an old man said to me won't see another one and then he sang a song

the rare old mountain dew I turned my face away and dreamed about you.

Got on a lucky one.

Came in 18 to one.

I've got a feeling.

This year was for me and you.

So happy Christmas.

I love you, baby.

I can see a better time when all our dreams come true.

They've got cars, big as far as they got mirrors of gold, but the wind goes right through

you, it's no place for the old.

When you first took my hand on a cold winter's sea, you promised me Hollywood was waiting for me.

You are handsome.

You were pretty, queen of Hollywood City.

When the band finished playing playing they held out for more

Sinatra was swinging all the drums they were singing we kissed on a corner and danced

with the night the boys in the LAPI choir were singing in Galway Bay and the bells were ringing out

for a Christmas day And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day.

You're a buffub! You're a punk. You're an old sled on junk. Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed you scumbag you meg it

you third rape op sag it happy christmas your ass i pray god it's your last the boys in the air they

beaded quiet a singing god they're big and the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day. I could have been someone.

Well, so could anyone.

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