Words & Music: Jake Thackray

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If you come around to mourn for Grandad don't dress up in black‚ 'cos
Although me Grandad's dead and buried, odds-on he'll be back, yes.
Although they stuffed him in a coffin and read out the will, and
Although he's six foot deep in darkness he'll never lie still.
He's made of sterner stuff, he's not dead enough.
Angels, saints and seraphim
Please, please will you try to keep an eye
On him.

On his ninetieth birthday, Grandad went down for a drink. Now
Me Grandad is a rabid dipso with a throat like a sink. He
Drank himself toward the skyline and his friends to the floor just
To prove how fit he was for boozing for ninety years more.
Your pearly gates he'll climb when it's opening time.
Angels, saints and seraphim
You'll, you'll find it hard to keep a guard
On him.

They brought him home upon a handcart with his legs in the air. He
Was singing Rule Britannia backwards in his underwear. He
Challenged all the county police force to a fight right away, then
He offered to put the Ladies' Union in the family way.
Your crystal domes will shake when he makes his break
Angels, saints and seraphim
He'll give you the slip, so get a grip
On him.

The doctor lifted up an eyelid and pronounced him gone. But
To judge from Grandad's finger signals the doctor was wrong. They
Dressed him in his Sunday night-shirt, they combed out his hair, but
They couldn't get my Grandad's boots off, he'd need them up there.
Your silken wings he'll shed. He will paint Paradise red.
Angels, saints and seraphim
Please don't expect that much respect
From him.

Even at the solemn moment he wouldn't behave, for
I heard him whistling in his coffin on his way to the grave. He
Took off toward the New Jerusalem with his pinch of salt. I
Distinctly heard him flatulating in his marble vault.
Your candles will be dimmed when he gets the wind.
Angels, saints and seraphim
Although he's old, although he's cold,
Keep a tight hold
On him.

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