Have you ever seen a hearse go by,
And wondered what happens when you die?
They wrap you in a big white sheet
And throw you down, six feet deep.
They put you in a little box,
And cover you up with earth and rocks.


All goes well for a week or two,
Then things start happening; all is new. 

 The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
They go in thin and they come out stout.
Your eyes fall in, your teeth fall out,
Your brain comes trickling down your snout.

And one worm that's not quite so shy
Crawls in one ear and out one eye,
Your blood turns into a sickly green
And oozes out like Devonshire cream.

So never laugh when a hearse goes by—
It may be your turn next to die.