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Please Mr. Gravedigger (Bowie David)

There's a little churchyard just along the way It used to be Lambeth's finest array Of tombstones, epitaphs, wreaths, flowers all that jazz Til the war come along and someone dropped a bomb on the lot And in this little yard, there's a little old man With a little shovel in his little bitty hand He seems to spend all his days puffing fags and digging graves He hates the reverend vicar and he lives all alone in his home "Ah-choo, excuse me" Please Mr. Gravedigger, don't feel ashamed As you dig little holes for the dead and the maimed Please Mr. Gravedigger, I couldn't care If you found a golden locket full of some girl's hair And you put it in your pocket "God, it's pouring down" Her mother doesn't know about your sentimental joy She thinks it's down below with the rest of her toys And Ma wouldn't understand, so I won't tell So keep your golden locket all safely hid away in your pocket Yes, Mr. GD, you see me every day Standing in the same spot by a certain grave Mary-Ann was only 10 and full of life and oh so gay And I was the wicked man who took her life away Very selfish, oh God No, Mr. GD, you won't tell And just to make sure that you keep it to yourself I've started digging holes myself And this one here's for you "Lifted our girl, she apparently doesn't know of it Hello misses, thought she'd be a little girl Bloody obscene, catch pneumonia or something in this rain"