I can see him in his black silk suit.
in a suitable expression.
There'll be horses with tall black plumes
to escort us to the family tombs.
With moaners in all corners
who've been taught to weep in tune.
Then a coffin lined with satin,
Large enough to wear your hat in,
We're just here to glamorize you
You might just as well look fetching
when you're six feet deep.
At the wake we'll drink a toddy to the body,
That's your fu neral, not our funeral.
If you're fond of overeating,
Starve yourself by under -eating,
Visualize the earth descending on you,
We will not reduce our prices.
That's your fu neral, not our funeral.
I don't think this song is funny.
Here's the boy, now where's the
In the end we'll either burn you up
We love coughs and wheezes
and diseases called incurable