The Hearse Song

This was a favorite old tune we sang–and loved–for years at Camp until some prudish parents complained that it was inappropriate for children. Kids are totally fascinated with death, morbid imagery, blood and guts. Nothin' wrong with that. It's us adults who repress our natural curiosity and perpetuate the taboo by avoiding the topics of death, decay, and the putrescence of bodily functions. Those JCC parents weren't alone though. The above version of this traditional tune appeared as part of the Alvin Schwartz book series Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, which is one of the most frequently "challenged" books for banning in contemporary history, according to the American Library Association.

The version we sang was different, and I'm partial to it, naturally, though I do have to give props to the Schwartz interpretation for the final, disgusting lines:

Your stomach turns a slimy green
And pus pours out like whipping cream
You spread it on a slice of bread
And that's what you eat when you are dead!

Maybe our version below was a bit tamer, but fascinatingly enough, the old-fashioned game of pinochle remains consistent in most versions I've found online:

Oh don't you laugh when the hearse goes by,
Or else you'll be the next to die
They'll wrap you up in a bloody sheet
And throw you down about fifty feet
You'll be okay for about a week
But then your coffin will start to leak
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out
The ants play pinochle on your snout
The big black bug with purple eyes
Goes in your kidney and out your eyes
Your eyes decay and roll away
And that's the end of the beautiful day

Pray for the dead and the dead will pray for you
Simply because there is nothing else to do
Pray for the dead.

[That last triplet of lines are sung to the melody of the third movement of Chopin's Piano Sonata No. 2, Marche Funèbre (click on it; I'll bet it sounds familiar). We always sang it by cupping our hands over our noses and flapping the fingers against one nostril so as to create a creepy vibrating effect to the words.]

Artist: Traditional, unknown. Interpretation by Alvin Schwartz, sung by the actor George S. Irving
Year: Unknown; recording c. 1980s.
Rating: Warm

Note: Chopin's funeral march, c. 1837.