The dealer shoots the moon
Pulled that card from up your sleeve
Now you're up, you bought twenty-four double vodka shots for yourself on Christmas Eve

Five finger fillet
Is not the [?] game
And there's blood on the seams of your Sunday best jeans
I hope grandma doesn't notice today
You're the best around this dead end town
But it won't get you out of here

So you better make your face up with that
Christmas cheer

I hate to take your money, but it's better off with me
Just trying to save you from yourself on this punk drunk Christmas Eve

[?] winter
And it's a ghost town
At least the drinks are free
Till you're [?] out on the beach
And you're howling at the sea

I want to help you
And you're broken
But you can't take my advice
Oh,won't you please come home for Christmas
Be it sober, be it high?