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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Paul Heaton
Vocals
Jacqui Abbott
Vocals
John Williams
Claps
Pete Marshall
Drums
Chris Wise
Background Vocals
Stephen Large
Piano
Nathan Bray
Trumpet
Tom Rees-Roberts
Trumpet
Mark Chandler
Trumpet
Jack Tinker
Trumpet
Nichol Thompson
Trombone
Alistair White
Trombone
Mark Frost
Trombone
Iain Dixon
Alto Saxophone
Adrian Wilkinson
Alto Saxophone
Rob Buckland
Tenor Saxophone
Carl Raven
Tenor Saxophone
Jim Fieldhouse
Baritone Saxophone
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Paul Heaton
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
John Williams
Producer
Gaz Hadfield
Recording Engineer
Tim Thomas
Recording Engineer
Ian Stewart
Assistant Recording Engineer
Ash Howes
Mixing Engineer
Tim Debney
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
You put the Christmas tree up
I take the Christmas tree down
Just so the children associate me
With everything wrong in this town
It's December, it's snowing, the feeling is growing
The parents can't even explain
It just feels so right when the pavements are white
And everyone boos if it rains
I still put the carrots right out
A mince pie, milk, or maybe some port
Even go down in the middle of night
Drink them, make sure I'm never caught
They don't blame you for trying, but all three are crying
The dinner's dried up and it's black
In the least of surprises, I bought the wrong sizes
They all know that Dad wants her back
Dad wants her back
The year I knocked Christmas tree down
Just an hour after I put it up
Adjusting the angel, nativity's crown
And claiming you'd not been to pub
Yes, the brandy is flowing, your dad's nose is glowing
The whole house is decked green and red
The snowman in snowdrift, the glittering driver
With snowball aimed at his head
I still put the carrots right out
A mince pie, milk, or maybe some port
Even go down in the middle of night
Drink them, make sure I'm never caught
They don't blame you for trying, but all three are crying
The dinner's dried up and it's black
In the least of surprises, you bought the wrong sizes
They all know that Dad wants her back
Dad wants her back
I take the lights off the tree
First, turn them off at the wall
Just so the very last glimmer of Christmas
I'm seen to be ending it all
I still put the carrots right out
A mince pie, milk, or maybe some port
Even go down in the middle of night
Drink them, make sure I'm never caught
Christmas for many, just a lucky old penny
A quiet glass of whiskey in chair
But Christmas for me, is a cold cup of tea
And a morning with none of you there
Writer(s): Paul David Heaton
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