Friend: WHOA! Somebody done been to the Wal-Mart!
Jeff: No, man. This is just the stuff I got for Christmas.
Friend: You cleaned up! Whatcha get?
Chorus: Five flannel shirts...
Jeff: Four Piedmont tires, three shotgun shells, two huntin' dogs and
some parts to a Mustang GT.
Friend: Jeff, I think you got gypped. There's TWELVE days to Christmas!
Jeff: I know that. I got it covered. Look over there in the corner.
Friend: That's yours, too?!?
Jeff: Yeah...
Chorus: On the twelve days of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Jeff: Twelve-pack of Bud, eleven rasslin' tickets, "ten" of "Copenhagen",
nine years probation, eight table dancers, seven packs of "Red Man",
six cans of Spam...(Whew).
Chorus: Five flannel shirts...
Jeff: Four Piedmont tires, three shotgun shells, two huntin' dogs and
some parts to a Mustang GT.
Friend: Man, them ain't normal Christmas presents.
Jeff: Naw, they're "redneck" gifts.
Friend: "Redneck" gifts?
Jeff: Yeah, you know. Like if you bought your wife earrings that double
as fishing lures. Or if you can burp the entire chorus of "Jingle
Bells". Perhaps if you think the "Nutcracker" is something you did
off the high dive. Or if you've ever misspelled anything in Christmas
lights. Or if you leave cold beer and pickled eggs for Santa Claus.
Friend: What's wrong with that?
Jeff: I didn't say there was anything wrong with it, but it's hard to
beat...Twelve-pack of Bud, eleven rasslin' tickets, "ten" of "Copen-
hagen", nine years probation, eight table dancers, seven packs of
"Red Man", six cans of Spam...(Whew).
Chorus: Five flannel shirts...
Jeff: Four Piedmont tires, three shotgun shells, two huntin' dogs and
some parts to a Mustang GT.
Friend: You know, you can't really consider it a Christmas 'less you go down
to the penitentiary 'n visit to yer mama.
Jeff: You're not listening to me...Get the car key out of your ear. That's
where the "nine months probation" comes in. I'm gonna do it for ya
again...Now listen...Twelve-pack of Bud, eleven rasslin' tickets,
"ten" of "Copenhagen", nine years probation, eight table dancers,
seven packs of "Red Man", six cans of Spam...
Chorus: Five flannel shirts...
Jeff: Four Piedmont tires, three shotgun shells, two huntin' dogs, and
some parts to a Mustang GT...Are you cryin'?
Friend: (Sniff) No, it's just my allergies.
Jeff: Happy Holidays, everybody.
