Here it comes, the moment I dread.

When everything comes true from inside my head.

Droning on and on as I heard what they said.

Now the singing and laughing, I wish I was dead.

Such a lousy tradition, who thought of this stuff?

Isn’t just growing old and tired punishment enough?

Parties and cakes and presents and fluff,

I’m a man for christ’s sake, I like things rough and tough.

I have a garage full of tools where I do man things.

Hammers and nails and the happiness it brings.

I’m not big on groups who want to visit and sing.

This stuff wouldn’t happen if I were the King.

Oh look, another shirt, some cologne and a tie.

This just sucks, no matter how hard I try.

More gifts to go, I just want to cry.

My oh my, look at the time, shouldn’t we say goodbye?

Round cakes are out now, we need a whole sheet.

There’s more room for candles, oh, isn’t that neat.

When all of them are lit the paint peels from the heat.

A pack of matches later we can all take a seat.

A celebration for others is what it’s all about.

The singing starts off low and ends with a shout,

“Happy Birthday Dad!!” was there ever a doubt?

Now I have to figure out how to blow all these sum-bitches out.