Grandpa got run over by a beer truck.
Walking to the bar on Christmas Eve.
You can say there no such thing as an idiot,
But as for me and grandma we believe.
He'd not had enough to drink
and we begged him not to go.
But he forgot some alchohol, and he
staggered out the door into the snow.
When we found him Christmas morning,
at the scene of the attack,
she had tire prints on her forehead,
and incriminating bottle marks on her back.

Now we're all so proud of grandma,
She's been taking this so well.
See her in there watching football,
drinking root beer and
playing cards with Cousin Mel.
It's not Christmas without Grandpa,
All the family's dressed in black
and we just can't help but wonder:
Should we open up his gifts,
or send them back?
Send them back!!

Now the goose is on the table
and the pudding made of fig
and the blue and silver candles
that would just have matched
the hair on grandpa's wig.
I've warned all my
friends and neighbors
better watch out for yourselves,
they should never give a license
to a man who drives a beer truck
and is going to hell.