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My Comrades, When I'm No More Drinking
And comrades, when I'm no more drinking,
But sick with gout and palsy lie,
Exhausted on my deathbed sinking —
Believe me, then my end is nigh.
But die I this day or tomorrow,
My testament's already made,
My burial from your hands I'll borrow,
But without splendor or pe-rade.
And when me to my grave you're taking,
Then follow after man by man (man by man).
And no sad funeral bells be ringing,
But tinkling glasses be your plan.
And on my tombstone be inscribed:
"This man was born — lived — drank — and died.
And now he lies here, who imbibed
In all life's joy and purple tide.
Poor man! Poor man!"
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