Theres a little churchyard just along the way
It used to be Lambeths finest array
Of tombstones, epitaphs, wreaths, flowers all that jazz
Til the war came along and someone dropped a bomb on the lot
And in this little yard, theres 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, dont feel ashamed
As you dig little holes for the dead and the maimed
Please Mr. Gravedigger, I couldnt care
If you found a golden locket full of some girls hair
And you put it in your pocket
God, its pouring down
Her mother doesnt know about your sentimental joy
She thinks its down below with the rest of her toys
And Ma wouldnt understand, so I wont tell
So keep your golden locket all safely hid away in your pocket
Yes, Mr. GD, you see me every day
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 wont tell
And just to make sure that you keep it to yourself
Ive started digging holes my friend
And this one heres for you
Lifted our girl, she apparently doesnt know of it
Hello misses, thought shed be a little girl
Bloody obscene, catch pneumonia or something in this rain