My man’s an undertaker You’d better stop knockin’ on my
door at night;
You’d better keep your mouth shut good and tight –
My man’s an undertaker and he’s got a coffin just your size.
Well, you’d better not brag ‘bout the times we had,
‘cause that’ll only make Mr. Rice real mad –
My man’s an undertaker and he’s got a coffin just your size.
I threw your old clothes out on the dump,
Now you can go and sit on a stump.
I put another cushion on your easy chair –
‘cause where you’re used to sittin’, Mr. Rice is sittin’ there!
You promised me a car, but all you did was scheme.
The only place I drove was in my dreams –
now my man’s an undertaker, he’s got a fleet of limousines.
I moved his business over here, just to have him kinda near.
Down in the cellar where it used to be bare,
Now Mr. Rice keeps his coffins there.
My man will come and get you in his big, black hearse –
take you out of the house with your feet goin’ first.
My man’s an undertaker, he’s got a coffin just your size.
