That's Your Funeral

Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry, Liberal terms

Three pounds

Well, as a matter of fact, I was needing a boy

He's a born undertaker's mute

I can see him in his black silk suit

Following behind the funeral procession

With his features fixed in a suitable expression

There'll be horses with tall black plumes

To escort us to the family tombs

With mourners in all corners who've been taught to weep in tune

Then the coffin lined with satin

That's your funeral

That's your funeral

Large enough to wear your hat in

That's your funeral

That's your funeral

We're just here to glamorize you for that endless sleep

You might just as well look fetching when you're six feet deep

At the wake, we'll drink a toddy to the body beautiful

That's your funeral

Not our funeral

That's your funeral

If you're fond of overeating, that's your funeral

That's your funeral

Starve yourself by under eating, that's your funeral

That's your funeral (that's your funeral)

Visualize the Earth descending on you clod by clod

You can't come back when you're buried underneath the sod

We will not reduce our prices, keep your vices usual

That's your funeral

Not our funeral

That's your funeral

I don't think this song is funny

That's your funeral

That's your funeral

Here's the boy, now where's the money?

That's your funeral

That's your funeral

We don't harbour thoughts macabre, there's no need to frown

In the end, we'll either burn you up or nail you down

We love coughs and wheezes and diseases, cold incurable

That's your funeral

No one else's funeral

That's your, that's your funeral!

Right then Oliver Twist

Your bed's underneath the counter

You don't mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose

Well, it don't much matter whether you do or you don't

'Cause you can't sleep nowhere else!