The Old Pack Mule

The Old Pack Mule, he's breathed his dying breath Poor old mule, they worked his arse to death His body's still warm, though his soul's gone up above So sharpen up your knives, boys, how shall we carve him up? Who wants his hooves? We'll melt them down for glue We'll suck the marrow from his bones and skin the bugger too And who wants his tongue, that made a bloody row He screeched and he honked but death has dumbed him now It's hard times and hungry times, there's nothing left to eat I'd stab my neighbour in the back for a little bit of meat It's hard times and hungry times so wouldn't it be kind To leave a little a something nice for them that's left behind And who wants his liver? There's rich pickings there We'll chop it up and carve it up, and each shall have a share And who wants his brain? The silly poor old dunce They say he hardly used it, he might have used it once It's hard times and hungry times, there's nothing left to eat I'd stab my neighbour in the back for a little bit of meat It's hard times and hungry times so wouldn't it be kind To leave a little a something nice for them that's left behind The Old Pack Mule, he's breathed his dying breath Poor old mule, they worked his arse to death His body's still warm, though his soul's gone up above So sharpen up your knives, boys, how shall we carve him up?