[Mr. Bumble]
Liberal terms, mr. Sowerberry, liberal terms? Three pounds!

[Mr. Sowerberry]
Well, as a matter of fact, I was needing a boy

[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 week 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 glamourize you for that
Endless sleep

[Both]
You might just 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

[Both]
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?

[Mrs. Sowerberry]
Visualize the earth descending on you clod by clod
You can't come back when you're buried
Underneath the sod

[Mrs. Sowerberry and sowerberry]
We will not reduce our prices
Keep your vices usual

[Mr. Sowerberry]
That's your funeral

[Mrs. Sowerbery]
Not our funeral

[Both]
That's your funeral

[Mr. Bumble]
I don't think this song is funny

[Mr. 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

[Both]
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. Soweberry]
That's your

[Both]
Funeral!