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 my 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 called
Incurable
That's your funeral
No one else's
Funeral
That's your...
That's your...
Funeral!