I knew of two FicPsych doctors name of Christmas,
Called Dawnie and Eve, of course, and they were assigned to the Tree
For whom we all know it is always the season
Of goodwill that lasts 'till the feast of Saint Stephen.

For that's when FicPsych can eat, drink, and be merry
Until all the Bleepka down gullets has flowed
And the whole Doctor stock you neglected to bury
Is stuffing their faces until they explode

There'll be laughter and tears and mixed Tia Marias,
Suebuprofen, and drinks made from girders
'Cause it's all we've got left as they draw their last breath
Ah, it's nice for the kids, since you've finally got rid of them!
In the Saint Stephen's Day murders!

Fitzsimmons gargles some heartbreaking air
As the babe in his arms pulls out more and more of his hair
No-one's drunk enough yet to dare criticize
The spinning bow tie he's about to baptize

His gin-flavoured whispers and kisses of sherry,
His best Crimbo shirt slung all over the shop,
As the Christmas Tree's singing voice blows up the telly
He skids out the door on a hidden pork chop

And the Dish of the Day, or what's left anyway,
May still be found haunting the kitchen
And there's life in it yet Dawn and Eve might regret
When the colleagues they poisoned stop twitchin'

And there's laughter and tears and mixed Tia Marias,
Suebuprofen, and drinks made from girders
'Cause it's all we've got left as they draw their last breath
Ah, it's nice for the kids, since we've finally got rid of them!
RID OF THEM!
In the Saint Stephen's Day murders!