Every Christmas after lunch when the whisky bottle was emptied, he died when I was about 12 but I still remember this:

Twas Christmas day in the workhouse
The one day of the year
And the paupers were making merry
For their guts were full of beer

The in strode the workhouse master
And peered into their stalls
He wished them a merry Christmas
And the paupers answered 'Balls'.