The mistletoe is not in bud,
The holly has no berries.
It's much too hot for christmas pud —
But there are lots of cherries!
Black Robins' breasts are never red,
White Christmas just a dream,
My stocking is hung up by my bed —
And we've strawberries and whipped cream!
There's chicken and there's lots of ham —
Santa's snack is set for him —
Mum's roasting up the leg of lamb,
And there's time for one more swim.
Our christmas trees grow on the hill.
Their crimson flowers bright.
The Southern Cross above us will
Hang stars on them tonight.