Once every year you pack your bags And leave California for mom and dad And drunk uncle bobby and the rest of the family Waiting back home Open up there's a knock at the door They sing "Hallelujah, a Child is born" I do believe that I once knew the words When I was younger They ask how you manage to get by They quietly judge your undeveloped life They throw you some money and hand me downs Thanks for nothing So the story goes You and i know i know i know You question your choice to go back home For Christmas And you stand up on the couch While pointing your finger to those around Why don't you all just go to hell If that's what you think of me You try to make up with good intent Then smoke all your mother's cigarettes Call it a fix or providence When no one can see you see less