This one’s going out to the little baby Jesus,
Who by now should be one month old.
He’d be lucky if he hasn’t got himself a few diseases,
And it was common at the time for young babies to be sold.
If that’s not bad enough there’s a king who wants him dead,
And he’s still in that shed with all the sheep.
After a difficult birth, he’s got a misshapen head,
And those gifts were just a loan, those men were wise, but also cheap.
And yet there’s more, it would seem his mum and dad are splitting up,
On the basis of genetic ambiguity,
It’s hard not to feel a little sorry for the pup,
A child needs a normal head, and a sense of continuity.
There’s some things I’d like to tell him, that his life won’t be all bad,
That someday, he’ll be everybody’s boss.
And if he doesn’t know already, the big man is his dad,
Which is why his mates eventually will nail him to a cross
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