| My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails
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| He doesn’t build ships, he has no use for sails
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| He doesn’t make tables, dressers or chairs
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| He can’t carve a whistle cause he just doesn’t care
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| My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor
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| Kings and queens; |
| they’ve all knocked on his door
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| Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves
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| They all come to him 'cause he’s so eager to please
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| My boy builds coffins he makes them all day
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| But it’s not just for work and it isn’t for play
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| He’s made one for himself
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| One for me too
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| One of these days he’ll make one for you
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| For you, for you, for you
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| My boy builds coffins for better or worse
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| Some say its a blessing, some say its a curse
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| He fits them together in sunshine or rain
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| Each one is unique, no two are the same
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| My boy builds coffins and I think it’s a shame
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| That when each one’s been made, he can’t see it again
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| He crafts everyone with love and with care
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| Then it’s thrown in the ground, it just isn’t fair
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| My boy builds coffins he makes them all day
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| But it’s not just for work and it isn’t for play
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| He’s made one for himself
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| One for me too
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| One of these days he’ll make one for you |