Dear Alfred, that poor old sod,
Worked as a gravedigger, a dead end job,
The Church innkeeper, “let’s keep ‘em in there” he’d say,
Shovelled-shit shut under rock and key,
No room service for the dead.
But oh no! Hell’s bells!
One day the ground became too loose, poor Alfred was to lose,
“I don’t believe it!” he cried, one foot in the grave, the other in deep
“Oh shitty! What a pity!” What a pit he’d dug for himself,
And dear Alfred lived six-feet-under ever after!