Look at the coffin with golden handles.

Chorus (after each first line):
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?
Let's not have a sniffle, let's have a bloody-good cry
And always remember: The longer you live,
The sooner you'll bloody-well die.

Look at the flowers, all bloody withered.

Look at the preacher, bloody {nice fellow, sanctimonious}.

Look at the mourners, bloody great hypocrites.

Look at the widow, bloody fine female.