| The undertaker is a busy man
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| For he and death go hand in hand
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| He works all day and digs all night
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| He loves the death, they are his life
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| No mortal can escape his plan
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| He sifts us all as grains of sand
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| And then one day he too shall pass
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| And as he’s dying, death will laugh
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| The undertaker knows no shame
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| He’s come to stake his claim
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| Rich or poor, large or small
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| The undertaker takes them all
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| Undertaker
|
| Bring out your dead!
|
| The undertaker
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| (I'm the undertaker)
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| The undertaker is dressed in black
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| To hide in shadows between the cracks
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| He’s no remorse, just sympathy
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| For all to see or so it seems
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| His work is never done
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| Clients many, friends not one
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| But in the end we understand
|
| The undertaken is a busy man
|
| The undertaker knows no shame
|
| To him we’ll offer game
|
| Rich or poor, large or small
|
| The undertaker takes them all
|
| Undertaker
|
| Bring out your dead!
|
| He is the undertaker
|
| (Undertaker)
|
| The undertaker knows no shame
|
| To him we’ll offer game
|
| The undertaker holds no blame
|
| Rich or poor, large or small
|
| The undertaker takes them all
|
| Undertaker
|
| Bring out your dead!
|
| Undertaker
|
| Bring out your dead!
|
| The undertaker |