Memories of Christmas (feat. GregVK)

When I was three, I watched Queen air a rhapsody on a black and white TV Grandpa drank Courage and smoked a Woodbine Sat with my aunt, uncle and me It's snowing outside and the fireclay are lit, as Gran comes in from the cold Mother's in tow, their arms full of gifts My first memory of Christmas took hold A year passes by and Francis the Bruce, visits with his acoustic guitar The year after that, a colour set; times worthy of B, G and R Mull of Kintyre played through the house, as a mist rolled in from the stove Smells of gravy, turkey, pudding, mince pies, mulled-wine, cinnamon and clove These are my memories 'Twas the office céilí, a fine Irish inn, Mathew Street, late 89 Joy's in the air and the old oaken floor, was dusted with tinsel and pines On a fairy-lit stage, an artist performed, songs on a white Fender-Strat Odes to, Lennon, McCartney, The Pogues and MacColl, Frankie, Stevens and Nat "It's that time of year", the boss cried in cheer, "drinks for ever-y-one!" Sláinte! Stumbling to, Rea, his Hamlet, half lit, with a match from a box with a swan Paul Flynn and I, we drank that bar dry, Advocaat/Bianco aside Last orders rang out, to the sweet sound of, George, we all made our way outside Walking home in the snow, frozen head to toe, not a single taxi in sight Jack is unkind, hangovers assured, we all heard sleigh bells that night! A festive applaud to the songs we adore By, Elton, Wizzard, and Slade From, Lake and Lewie, de Burgh and Bowie Oldfield, Mud and Band Aid Timeless tracks of our age Christmas arrives, through a frosted pane, a vision of brilliant white Cathedral bells reign, a new bike for, Wayne, a snowman and snowball fight I creep down the stairs and try to traverse the stockings, torn paper and junk The tantrum and blame over a trivial game; far cry from Risk or Kerplunk Seated for dinner, the table adorned, my kinfolk a sight to behold Theresa says grace, then follows a day, akin to family, Griswold A cracker is pulled and out falls a hat, bad joke and cheap black moustache Food fit for Kings; we're fit to burst but there's room for, Ste's garlic-mash Uncle Gary sings, his tribute to, Bing through a speaker and small microphone We dance through the night, me with Ms Wright, my long-haired lover from home A festive applaud to the songs we adore By, Elton, Wizzard, and Slade From, Lake and Lewie, de Burgh and Bowie Oldfield, Mud and Band Aid Timeless tracks of our age Yesteryear Yuletides Presents of past times Singing along to songs By, Elton, Wizzard and Slade Tinsel and old pines Canned ales and Woodbines These, are my memories, of Christmas These, are our memories, of Christmas