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Once every year you pack your bags
And leave California for mom and dad
And drunk uncle bobby and the rest of the family
Waiting back home
Open up there's a knock at the door
They sing Hallelujah,
a
Child
is
born
I do believe that I once knew the words
When I was younger
They ask how you manage to get by
They quietly judge your undeveloped life
They throw you some money and hand me downs
Thanks for nothing
So the story goes
You and i know i know i know
You question your choice to go back home
For Christmas
And you stand up on the couch
While pointing your finger to those around
Why don't you all just go to hell
If that's what you think of me
You try to make up with good intent
Then smoke all your mother's cigarettes
Call it a fix or providence
When no one can see you see less