Money's tight, times are hard
Here's your flaming Christmas card
This sorry tale I have to tell
Is written from a prison cell
I lost my job and then to boot
Got mugged by a geezer in a big red suit
The Mastercard was on the brink
I had no food nor drop of drink
The Royal Bank had shut me down
No way then could I go to town
What Mum would want to tell her kids
" Christmas, guys? it's on the skids'
I had a choice - to sit there sobbin'
Or get myself some Christmas robbin'
So all my festive needs I nicked
'Til Santa got her booty kicked
They hobbled me in M&S
Blagging Mum a brand new dress
A Christmas pudding up my dukes
And in my bag two frozen chooks
Mince pies and chocolates down my nix
Alongside nuts and jungle mix
A Stollen log tucked in my bra
( that was perhaps a cake too far)
But when they found the turkey crown
The magistrate,he sent me down
Christmas comes but once a year
I' d thought mine would be full of tears
But now I' ll get a four course lunch
With Christmas cake and prison punch
Free of charge in Cell block C
Courtesy of HMP
The food, I' m sure, will be delish
And I won't have to wash one dish
No ' wrap those gifts' no trim that tree'
My plan has worked out to a T
And so from me and my new pal Steph
Who shares with me in 14F
Greetings from the dining hall
And Merry Christmas one and all
Carol Ann Hunter is a writer with crooked Cat Publishing and has given TAG permission to print it. Crooked Cat Publishing is also Vanessa Couchman's publisher
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