LETRA
Use A− / A+ para ajustar a leituraThe Holiday Song
Well sit right down my wicked sonAnd let me tell you a storyAbout the boy who fell from gloryAnd how he was a wicked sonThis ain't no holidayBut if our ways turn out this wayHere I am with my handHe took his sister from his headAnd then painted her on the sheetsAnd then rolled her up in grass and treesAnd they kissed 'till they were deadThis ain't no holidayBut it always turns out this wayHere I am, with my handWell sit right down my evil sonAnd let me tell you a storyAbout the boy who fell from gloryAnd how he was a wicked sonThis ain't no holidayBut it always turns out this wayHere I am, with my handThis ain't no holidayBut it always turns out this wayHere I am, with my hand
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