Luyện nghe bài hát It's Christmas Day

Day One
Nuala,
Thank you much for your lovely present of a partridge in a pear-tree
We're getting the hang of feeding the now,
Although it was difficult at first to win its
It bit the rather badly on the hand
But they're good friends now and we're the pear-tree indoors in a bucket
Thank you
affectionately, Gobnait O'Lúnasa

Day Two
Nuala,
I cannot tell you how surprised we were to hear from you so soon again and to your lovely present of two turtle doves
You are too kind
At the partridge was very jealous
And of the doves and they had a terrible row the night the doves arrived
We had to send for the vet but the are okay again
And the stitches are due to out in a week or two
The vet's bill was 8 but the mother is over her now
And the doves and the are watching the telly from the pear-tree as I write Yours ever, Gobnait

Day
Nuala,
We must be foremost in thoughts
I had only posted my letter when the French hens arrived
There was another sort-out between the and the doves,
Who sided with the partridge, and the vet had to be for again
The mother was raging because the was 16 this time
But she has almost down
However, the that the birds' droppings keep falling down
On her hair whilen she's the telly, doesn't help matters
Thanking you for your
I remain, your

Day
Nuala,
You mustn't have received my last letter when you were sending us the four calling birds There was pandemonium in the pear-tree last night and the vet's bill was 32
The mother is on as I write
I know you meant no harm and remain close friend

Day
Nuala,
Your knows no bounds
Five gold rings! When the parcel arrived I was scared stiff that it might be more birds, because the in the living-room is atrocious
However, I don't want to ungrateful for the beautiful rings
affectionate friend, Gobnait

Day Six
Nuala,
What are you trying to do to us? It isn't that we don't your generosity
But the six geese have not alone murdered the calling birds
But they laid eggs on top of the vet's head
From the pear-tree and his was 68 in cash!
My mother is munching 60 grains of a day
And to herself in a most alarming way
You keep your feelings for me in check

Day
Nuala,
We are not amused by your joke
Seven swans-a-swimming is a most romantic but not in the bath of a private house
We cannot use the now because they've gone completely savage
And rush the door time we try to enter
If things go on this way, the mother and I will smell as bad as the living-room carpet Please lay off It is not

Day
Nuala,
Who the hell do you think gave you the right to eight,
Hefty maids-a-milking here, to eat us out of and home?
Their cattle are all over the front
And have the hell out of the mother's rose-beds
The swans the living-room in a sneak attack
And the ensuing battle between them and the birds,
Turtle doves, hens and partridge make the battle
Of the Somme seem Wanderly Wagon
The mother is on a bottle of whiskey a day, as as the sixty grains of Valium
I'm annoyed with you

Day
you looser!
There's enough pandemonium in this place night and day without nine drummers drumming, while the eight flaming are beating my poor, old alcoholic mother out of her own kitchen and gobbling everything in sight
I'm you, you're making an enemy of me

Day Ten
manure-face,
I hope you'll be haunted by the strains of ten pipers
you sent to torment us last night
They aided in their evil work by those maniac drummers
And it wasn't a pleasant sight to out the window
And see eight hefty pogo-ing around with the ensuing punk-rock uproar
My has just finished her third bottle of whiskey,
On top of a hundred and four grains of Valium
get yours!
Gobnait

Day
You have scandalized my mother, you Jezebel,
It was bad enough to have eight maids-a-milking dancing to punk music on the front lawn but they've now been joined by friends the eleven Lords-a-leaping
And the antics of the whole lot of them leave
The most decadent days of the Roman looking like Outlook
get you yet, you loud bag!

Day
Listen head,
You have our lives
The twelve dancing turned up last night
And beat the living daylights out of the maids-a-milking,
'Cause found them carrying on with the eleven Lords-a-leaping
Meanwhile, the got out of the living-room,
Where they'd been hiding the big battle,
And hell out of the Lords and all the Maids
There were eight ambulances here last night, and the local Civil as well
The mother is in a for the bewildered
And I'm sitting here, up to my neck in droppings, empty whiskey
And bottles, birds' blood and feathers,
the flaming cows eat the leaves off the pear-tree
I'm a man.