Lyrics:

Mr Sowerberry
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

Mrs Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mr Sowerberry
Large enough to wear your hat in
That's your funeral

Mrs Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mr Sowerberry
We're just here to glamourise you for that endless sleep

Mr and Mrs Sowerberry
You might as well look fetching
When you're six feet deep

Mrs Sowerberry
At the wake we'll drink a toddy
To the body beautiful

Mr Sowerberry
That's your funeral!

Mrs Sowerberry
Not our funeral!

Mr and Mrs Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mr Sowerberry
If you're fond of overeating
That's your funeral

Mrs Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mr Sowerberry
Starve yourself by undereating
That's your funeral

Mrs Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mr and Mrs Sowerberry
Visualise the earth descending on you clod by clod
You can't come back when you're buried
Underneath the sod

We will not reduce prices
Keep your vices usual

Mr Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mrs Sowerberry
Not our funeral

Mr and Mrs Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mr Bumble
I don't think this song is funny

Mr Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mrs Sowerberry
That's your funeral

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

Mr Sowerberry
That's your funeral

Mr Bumble
That's your funeral

Mr Sowerberry
We don't harbour thoughts macabre
There's no need to frown

Mr and Mrs Sowerberry
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

Mr Sowerberry
That's your...

Mrs Sowerberry
That's your...

Mr and Mrs Sowerberry
Funeral