On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me
Eleven pipers piping.
The pipers were perhaps the worst gift yet
As all the noise made the birds quite upset.
Causing me, and me, the lords and the maids
To clean the garden with buckets and spades.
My house is now in a very sorry state
I’d run away but I think it’s too late.
I have to see this through to the end
Despite these gifts driving me round the bend.
I braced myself for the final day
Wandering what hell would come my way.