There's a little churchyard just along the way

It used to be Lambeth's finest array

Of tombstones, epitaphs, wreaths, flowers all that jazz

Till the war came along and someone dropped a bomb on the lot



And in this little yard, there's a little old man

With a little shovel in his little bitty hand

He seems to spend all his days puffing fags and digging graves

He hates the reverend vicar and he lives all alone in his home



Ah-choo ! excuse me



Please Mr. Gravedigger, don't feel ashamed

As you dig little holes for the dead and the maimed

Please Mr. Gravedigger, I couldn't care

If you found a golden locket full of some girl's hair

And you put it in your pocket



God, it's pouring down



Her mother doesn't know about your sentimental joy

She thinks it's down below with the rest of her toys

And Ma wouldn't understand, so I won't tell

So keep your golden locket all safely hid away in your pocket



Yes, Mr. GD, you see me every day , st ....ah choo !

Standing in the same spot by a certain grave

Mary-Ann was only 10, full of life and oh so gay

And I was the wicked man who took her life away

Very selfish, Oh God



No, Mr. GD, you won't tell

And just to make sure that you keep it to yourself

I've started digging holes myself

And this one here's for you



Lifted our girl, she apparently doesn't know of it

Hello misses, thought she'd be a little girl

Bloody obscene, catch pneumonia or something in this rain