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?