americana

Did you ever think when a hearse goes by,
That you may be the next to die?
They take you out to the family plot,
And there you wither, decay, and rot.
They wrap you up in a bloody sheet,
And then they bury you six-feet deep.
And all goes well for a week or two,
And then things start to happen to you.
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
The ants play pinochle on your snout!
One of the worms that’s not so shy,
Crawls in one ear and out one eye.
They call their friends and their friends’ friends, too,
They’ll make a horrid mess of you!
And then your blood turns yellow-green,
And oozes out like whipping cream.
[Spoken] Darn, me without a spoon!
Your eyes fall out, your teeth decay
A rotten end to a lovely day
So never laugh when a hearse goes by,
For you may be the next to die.