| Song | A Doe To a Deer |
| Artist | Los Campesinos! |
| Album | A Los Campesinos! Christmas |
| I came two weeks before Christ, | |
| not tender nor mild, from the womb I came a-wailing “silent night! “, | |
| but I’ll give you something to believe in. | |
| You’ll see three ships sailing in. | |
| I’m a frail evergreen, be a bauble hanging off of me, | |
| pine needles a’pricking at your bare feet. | |
| I’ll be anything you want of me, carrot nosed encased in snow. | |
| An angel teetering atop a tree, vomiting from vertigo. | |
| If you’ll be mine for Christmas: | |
| a doe to a deer. | |
| I’ll be home for Christmas, | |
| and home will be here. | |
| I’m three sheets to the wind, | |
| but the wind is a sleet, and this sheet ain’t one of snow to play beneath, | |
| and my nose is red, from the whiskey. | |
| I’m Boxing Day game away. | |
| Shirtless cherubs on the terrace, singing hymns, praying the saviour scores today, | |
| and that he is one, but not the only. | |
| If you’re looking for me, follow any star | |
| ’cause I will be around, no matter where you are. | |
| I’m CCTV video late night on Christmas Eve, | |
| window shopping in full Santa suit, | |
| blind drunk on the high street. | |
| Never got a gift, gold, frankincense or myrrh | |
| and never would’ve cared if you could just have her. | |
| I’m Christmas morning stumbling home up the cul-de-sac, | |
| flanked by kids upon new bikes, | |
| stabilizing my walk back. |
| I came two weeks before Christ, | |
| not tender nor mild, from the womb I came awailing " silent night! ", | |
| but I' ll give you something to believe in. | |
| You' ll see three ships sailing in. | |
| I' m a frail evergreen, be a bauble hanging off of me, | |
| pine needles a' pricking at your bare feet. | |
| I' ll be anything you want of me, carrot nosed encased in snow. | |
| An angel teetering atop a tree, vomiting from vertigo. | |
| If you' ll be mine for Christmas: | |
| a doe to a deer. | |
| I' ll be home for Christmas, | |
| and home will be here. | |
| I' m three sheets to the wind, | |
| but the wind is a sleet, and this sheet ain' t one of snow to play beneath, | |
| and my nose is red, from the whiskey. | |
| I' m Boxing Day game away. | |
| Shirtless cherubs on the terrace, singing hymns, praying the saviour scores today, | |
| and that he is one, but not the only. | |
| If you' re looking for me, follow any star | |
| ' cause I will be around, no matter where you are. | |
| I' m CCTV video late night on Christmas Eve, | |
| window shopping in full Santa suit, | |
| blind drunk on the high street. | |
| Never got a gift, gold, frankincense or myrrh | |
| and never would' ve cared if you could just have her. | |
| I' m Christmas morning stumbling home up the culdesac, | |
| flanked by kids upon new bikes, | |
| stabilizing my walk back. |