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I’m mourning over my old mate Bill; the old codger’s no longer alive.
Yes, the old ‘bugger’s given up smoking and stumps are at eighty-five.
No more gambling and joking or swearing; he finished his long drinking spree.
But he’s left us a little concerned; out here death usually comes by three.

Sure enough old Lilac Towt who lived not far down the track
heard about Bill and got such a shock that she had a heart attack.
Then ‘bugger me dead’ the very next day, at Bill’s wake as I bent my elbow,
I hear a bloke ‘carked’ it out on a farm - he was someone I didn’t know.

I arranged to take the day off to pay my respects for old Bill.
I’ll chuck in a stubby and playboy when they lower him down on ‘Boot Hill’.
I did hear somewhere on the grapevine, the Church wants to bid him farewell,
but cripes they are a late runner ‘cause Bill’s bought his ticket to hell.

I sat in a pew amongst strangers, listening to the sobs and the sighs.
Some bloke stood up in the pulpit and started reading a whole pack of lies!
He said Bill was no more than a humble man. I frowned as others did nod.
He spoke in terms of a wholesome life devoted to family and God.

I thought to myself ‘you hypocrite!’ Bill would cringe at what he heard said.
There was not a good word for him alive but they talk like this when he’s dead.
Fancy telling all he’s a family man, everyone knows he’s been divorced twice,
and the ‘bull’ about devotion to God; blaspheming was Bill’s biggest vice.

This raving about his clean living; the feelings toward his darling wife,
and how he had been a temperate man never touching grog in his life.
Saying he’d give away his right arm with a passion to help everyone!
This is Bill they’re talking about - I know what he’s bloody done!

Cripes! He’s been in the clink for point-o-five and disrupting other folks lives.
He had feelings for the opposite sex and they’re usually other bloke’s wives.
He’d give away his homing pigeons; nothing lent could find its way back,
And he’s known as the bloke who’d lift anything, so we called him ‘hydraulic 
jack!’

So I stood up in that Church - complained of the eulogy read out for Bill.
I said “Why don’t you lot tell the truth instead of this pompous pathetic overkill.
He wasn’t the man you blokes talked about and I feel ashamed because,
you’ve made me feel I’m at the wrong funeral” - you know I ‘bloody-well’ was!
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