Planning for death
I'm building barns till the cows come home
I'm feeling poorly but I'll keep building on
I can't bring money to heaven, they say
They could be wrong, I'll save anyway.
I'm too old now to learn how
To set aside the rake and the harrow
Not for me sailing or beer
Making useless money is my cheer.
They could be wrong and to be sure
I'll stitch some pockets in my shroud
I'll stuff some dosh an' pills an' stuff
Surely that way I'll 'ave enough.