On Christmas Eve I turned the spit,
I burnt my fingers, I fell it yet.
The cock sparrow flew over the table,
The pot began to play with the ladle.
The ladle stood up like an angry man,
And vowed he'd fight the frying-pan.
The frying-pan behind the door
Said he never saw the like before.
And the kitchen clock I was going to wind
Said he never saw the like behind.