Okay,  listen up, y’all.

I spent Christmas in England,

And this is what I saw.

They got something called a Christmas Pudding

I don’t know why--it ain’t got no pudding in it at all.

It’s just a big fruity mess

Rotting in fat and alcohol.

First they take dried fruit, sugar, and peelings,

Mix it with some flour, spices, eggs, and brandy,

Add some stuff I can’t remember,

Then take turns stirring, make wishes, and throw in some coins.

And wrap it all in a ball a month before December.

Then, Bless their hearts, they put that ball in a steamer

And I ain’t kidding -- they cook it for 8 hours.

Till the thang just looks meaner and meaner.

Next they put it in a cellar or cabinet to work its powers,

When Christmas finally comes and it’s ready to eat,

They take it out and set the danged thang on fire!

They dig into that black thang like white heat.

They go for those coins and fruit with uncontrolled desire.

Good, Lord, All mighty! They do love their treat.

It looks all right, but I won’t get too close.

I’m a good Christian man, and it has spirits in it.

I’m sometimes filled with the spirit of the Holy Ghost

But dessert with cotton-pickin’ booze is a sin!

And I thank those English love the brandy the most!

Of course, I’m not the kind of person to judge anyone.

Whether they go to Hell is between them and their God.

But I only know what sweet Jesus said should be done.

So, I just had myself some coffee and American ice cream.

And left them heathens to their own debauchery.