Over Our Granny’s Dead Body

 

Now, don’t get me wrong…we loved our old Granny

And we cherished her when she was here

But she pegged it.. with no life insurance

Ans the cost of a funeral’s so dear

 

Dad searched her house to find her stash

Cos e’d often heard it said

That she kept a wad of money

In a pot under her bed

 

Well he did find a pot stashed under her bed

But it wasn’t a pot full of money

It was Granny’s old guzzunder

Which our dad didn’t find all that funny

 

He searched the house from bottom to top

Every nook and cranny

But he couldn’t find the wherewithal

That we needed to bury our Granny

 

 

 

“Reyt then” said mi father

In a serious dignified manner

“We’ll have to have a whip-round”

Which we did…. And raised twelve-and-a tanner

 

Mortimer was the undertaker

A shifty looking creep

Dad offered him the twelve-and-six

To bury our Gran on the cheap

 

“For twelve-and -six” said Mortimer

“I wun’t put a spade in the ground

But we can still do it in secret

When nobody else is around”

 

He said “You know Seven-bellies Samson

Well he died last Saturday night

And we’re burying him at noon tomorrow

If memory serves me right”

 

He said “Get thissen down t’graveyard tomorrow

By eleven… cos like as not

They should have finished their diggin’ bi then

On Seven-bellies’ plot”

 

“Then wait until they bugger off

And sling Granny down in the ‘oil

Then all you need do is cover ‘er up

Wi’ a couple of inches of soil”

 

“Then when we bury Seven-bellies

Nobody’ll know that she’s there

A clandestine double interment

They say that it’s good to share”

 

So we went home to get Granny ready

And prepare her to meet her maker

For a clandestine double interment

Without an undertaker

 

Granny always wore a bit of rouge

To keep her cheeks rosy and red

But mi Dad couldn’t find it… so improvised

And used ox-blood boot polish instead

 

 

 

 

Now… we din’t want to draw attention

As we walked the streets with Granny’s stiff

So we wrapped her up in her hearthrug

Because she was starting to whiff       

 

 

Mi Dad’s brother…. Our Uncle Nobby

Came round to help out in the deed

With his five-gear racing pushbike and sidecar

Which he’d greased-up to give it more speed

 

So we loaded our Granny up.. into the sidecar

Wrapped up in her hearthrug all tight

And we covered her up in her old shawl 

To keep her out of sight

 

It was ten o’clock when we left our house

In a sombre cavalcade

To see our Granny get buried

By some-bugger else’s spade         

 

 

 

 

Uncle Nobby led the procession

Peddling his pushbike like mad

With our dead Granny stuffed into the sidecar

And followed by us and our Dad

 

Mi Dad suffered from a condition, called disobedient legs

Which he often used as an excuse

Cos nine times out of ten, when he told ‘em

To walk past a pub they’d refuse

 

As we proceeded down Maggot Farm  Boulevard

The route took us past the Black Swan

Where mi Dad’s dodgy leg started draggin’ him in

He said “Come on, we’ve got time for just one”

 

There’s no such thing as just one with mi Dad

Just one pint meant one or two

And as for our Uncle Nobby

Jus two pints meant quite a few

 

We were all quite tiddly when we came out

And mi Mother was well worse for wear

And we looked for Nobby’s pushbike

Where he’d left it… but it wasn’t there

 

Some sneaky bugger had nicked it

And he’d nicked his sidecar anorl

And the hearthrug that granny was wrapped in

He’d even nicked Granny’s old shawl

 

“Bloody hell” said our Uncle Nobby

“Now what are we going to do

We’ll have to carry Granny t’graveyard”

Then he noticed… He’d nicked Granny too

 

That slimy bugger had nicked the lot

I hope that he’d pleased with his loot

The pushbike and sidecar

The hearthrug the shawl

And he’d also nicked Granny to boot