The holiday song

Well sit right down my wicked son And let me tell you a story About the boy who fell from glory And how he was a wicked son This ain't no holiday But it always turns out this way Here I am with my hand He took his sister from his head And then painted her on the sheets And then rolled her up in grass and trees And they kissed 'till they were dead This ain't no holiday But it always turns out this way Here I am, with my hand Well sit right down my evil son And let me tell you a story About the boy who fell from glory And how he was a wicked son This ain't no holiday But it always turns out this way Here I am, with my hand This ain't no holiday But it always turns out this way Here I am, with my hand