The X in Xmas is a substitute crucifix for Christ
A one, two
A one, two, three, four!

No Christmas for John Quays
No Christmas for John Quays
No Christmas for John Quays
No Christmas for John Quays

Well the powders reach you
And the powders teach you
But when you find that they can't reach you
There is no Christmas for junky

He thinks he is
More interesting
Than the world

Ah but buying cigs
Puts him in a whirl

I'll have a packet of three-five fives
Will you fucking put the monitors on for Christ's sake?
I'll have a packet of three-five fives
I'll have 20 of those over there
I'll have 20 No.6 for a headache
And I've had enough right there, stop
[?]
Good King Wenceslas last looked out
Silly bugger, he fell out

He spits in the sky
It falls in his eye
And then he gets to sitting
Talking to his kitten
Talking about Frankie Lymon

Tell me why is it so?
Tell me why is it so?

Out of his face with the Idle Race
Out of the room with this tune

Although the skins are thin
He knows it's up to him
To go out or stay in

Oh, I'll stay in
I'll stay in, I'll stay in, I'll stay in, I'll stay in

You, me
X-Mas
X-Mas
Well the powders reach you
And the powders teach you
But when you find they can't reach you
There is no Christmas for John Quays
No girls
No curls
Just the traffic passing by
Bye bye bye bye bye bye bye bye

One, two, three, four
No Christmas for John Quays
No Christmas for John Quays
No Christmas for John Quays
No Christmas for John Quays