It was Christmas Eve in the bake house,
and there wasn’t a crumb in sight;
for the little creatures had all been festive
through the long, dark silent night.
“Where are the loaves and the rolls,
where the baps and buns;
how shall we feed the bishops,
the friars and the nuns?”
The mice didn’t care two figs,
the owls didn’t give two hoots,
the birds and bees, and two large fleas,
were full unto their boots.
It was Christmas Day in the bakehouse,
and the baker had work to do,
to feed the rich, fat, and religious,
while we had but a crust to chew.