Lean your ear this way;
Don't you tell a single soul,
What I'm going to say.
Christmas Eve is coming soon;
Now you dear old man,
Whisper what you'll bring to me;
Tell me if you can.
When the clock is striking twelve;
When I'm fast asleep,
Down the chimney broad and black,
With your pack you'll creep;
All the stockings you'll find
Hanging in a row;
Mine will be the shortest one,
You'll be sure to know.
When I'm fast asleep,
Down the chimney broad and black,
With your pack you'll creep;
All the stockings you'll find
Hanging in a row;
Mine will be the shortest one,
You'll be sure to know.
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