Artist: Oliver! soundtrack Album: Oliver! Song: That's Your Funeral Translated title:
That's Your Funeral letra
That's Your Funeral songtext
That's Your Funeral lyrique
That's Your Funeral testo
That's Your Funeral referencias
(spoken) Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry...Liberal terms? Three pounds!
SOWERBERRY
(spoken) Well, as a matter of fact, I was needing a boy....
MR. BUMBLE
He's a born undertaker's mute. I can see him in his black silk suit. Following behind the funeral procession... With his features fixed in a suitable expression. There'll be horses with tall black plumes To escort us to the family tombs, With mourners In all corners Who've been taught to weep in tune.
Then the coffin lined with satin. That's your funeral.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
Large enough to wear your hat in. That's your funearl.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
We're just here to glamourize you for that Endless sleep.
MRS. SOWERBERRY AND SOWERBERRY
You might just as well look fetching When you're six feet deep.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
At the wake we'll drink a toddy To the body beautiful.
MR. SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
Not our funeral.
BOTH
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
If you're fond of overeating That's your funeral.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
Starve yourself by undereating That's your funeral.
THE FUNERAL PROCESSION
That's your funeral?
MRS. SOWERBERRY
Visualize the earth descending on you clod by clod. You can't come back when you're buried Underneath the ...sod.
MRS. SOWERBERRY AND SOWERBERRY
We will not reduce our prices. Keep your vices usable.
SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
MRS. SOWERBERY
Not our funeral.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
Not our funeral.
ALL
That's your funeral.
MR. BUMBLE
I don't think this song is funny.
SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
MR. BUMBLE
Here's the boy, now where's the money?
SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
MR. BUMBLE
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
We don't harbour thoughts macabre, There's no need to frown.
MRS. SOWERBERRY AND SOWEBERRY
In the end we'll either burn you up or nail you down. We love coughs and wheezes And diseases called incurable. That's your funeral. No one else's funeral.
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