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 came 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, 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"