the month after Christmas, and all through the house
cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste
I got on the scales there arose such a number!
remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
cakes and the pies, the bread and the cheese
I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt
said to myself, as I only can -
away with the last of the sour cream dip,
last bit of food that I like must be banished
won't have a cookie, not even a lick.
won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore ...
to giggle, no longer a riot.
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