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Covid Carols

Hark the herald angels mumble
Can’t sing out, and so they grumble
Peace on earth? No not a chance
With all the Lorries stuck in France
Wild, they sit while veggies die
Stuck in some new Kent layby
Hark the herald angels curse
Think it’s bad? It’ll get much worse


We two kings from Orient are
Left the third with Hezbollah
Too much trouble forming a bubble
Following yonder star

Oh, star of blunder, star of shite
Star of booby Boris blight
Prezzies, ducky? You’ll be lucky!
Maybe in Feb or Mar


God rest ye merry customs posts
Let nothing you dismay
Cos everything is stuck in France
And won’t get through today
So you can sit and drink the booze
That all has gone astray
Better to drink it than destroy
Oh tidings of comfort [hic] and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy


Oh little town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie
While cases soar in Tier Four
No footfall passes by
Thy gift shops all in darkness
Thy hotels with no beer
The landlords pray and sadly say
We won’t be here next year


Once in hopeless Hancock’s city
Stood some busy hospitals
Where the patients coughed their guts up
On trolleys lined along the walls
Blame it on this brand new strain
Caught us all out once again

We were told if we had locked down
Christmas would be fine this year
Doubts and fears were smoothly knocked down
Boris said, you need not fear
Bought the champers for some fun
Lots of bubbles? No, only one


I saw three ships go sailing by
For Christmas day, for Christmas day
Leaving Waitrose high and dry
On Christmas Day in the morning

Pray what is in the three ships’ hold?
For Christmas Day for Christmas Day
There’s salmon mousse pressed in a mold
On Christmas Day in the morning

Oh how we’d love that salmon mousse
On Christmas Day on Christmas Day
And maybe just a slice of goose
On Christmas Day in the morning

Oh no, these ships are not for thee
On Christmas Day, On Christmas Day
We’ll only land when you’re Covid-free
Not Christmas Day in the morning


While shepherds watched their flocks by night
All seated on the ground
An angel of the Lord came down
And measured all around

Take care, said he, for mighty dread
Had seized their troubled mind.
Just spread yourselves a little bit
Or else you shall be fined

Or follow me to Bethlehem
And you shall see just then
A baby, several cows, an ass,
Two parents, three wise men

Well bugger that, the shepherds said
We won’t be going slumming
We’re law-abiding folks are we –
We’re sure not Dominic Cummings

Besides, there’s one thing else we know
Which makes your plans unravel
To make a trip to Bethlehem
Is not essential travel