And had she but told me before she disordered me, had she but told me of it in time,
I might have got pills and salts of white mercury. But now I’m cut down in the height of my prime. Send for the preacher to pray o’er my body, send for the doctor to heal up my wounds, send for the young man I first fell in love with, that I might see him before I pass on. Roll out your rubber tired carriage, roll out your old time hat. Twelve men going to the graveyard and eleven coming back. She can look this wide world over but she’ll never find a 77 year old like me. I want 16 crapshooters for my pallbearers and a fifth of Chivas Regal in my hearse. Now when I die I want you all to send me to heaven in a sardine can, just about 25 or 30 flapjacks in my hand so I can just ooze my way sweet mama, right smack-a-dab to the promised land. ‘Twas once in the saddle, papa, I used to go dashing, father, in my young days when I used to be gay, down roun’ that old church-house, with them handsome young ladies. Them girls oughta carry me, follow me to my grave. Now give me 6 white horses to carry my hearse wagon, 6 naked ladies to sing a pretty song. On the cross by his grave you will find these words written: All you young troopers take warnin’ by me; “Keep away from them flash-girls who walk in the city; Flash-girls of the city have quite ruined me.” When I was a young girl I used to seek pleasure, when I was a young girl I used to drink ale, right out of the alehouse and into the jailhouse, out of a barroom and down to my grave. Sometimes I’m sittin pretty, sometimes I’m on the bust. Lord, ain’t it a doggone pity I can’t find no woman I can trust. Send poker players to the graveyard dig my grave with the ace of spades I want 12 polices in my funeral march, High sheriff playing blackjack leading the parade.

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