There's a little churchyard just along the way 
It used to be Lambeth's finest array 
Of tombstones, epitaphs, wreaths, flowers all that jazz 
Til the war come along and someone dropped a bomb on the lot 
 
And in this little yard, there's a little old man 
With a little shovel in his little bitty hand 
 
He seems to spend all his days puffing fags and digging graves 
He hates the reverend vicar and he lives all alone in his home 
"Ah-choo, excuse me" 
Please Mr. Gravedigger, don't feel ashamed 
As you dig little holes for the dead and the maimed 
Please Mr. Gravedigger, I couldn't care  
If you found a golden locket full of some girl's hair 
 
And you put it in your pocket 
"God, it's pouring down" 
Her mother doesn't know about your sentimental joy 
She thinks it's down below with the rest of her toys 
And Ma wouldn't understand, so I won't tell 
So keep your golden locket all safely hid away in your pocket 
Yes, Mr. GD, you see me every day 
Standing in the same spot by a certain grave 
Mary-Ann was only 10 and full of life and oh so gay 
 
And I was the wicked man who took her life away 
Very selfish, oh God 
No, Mr. GD, you won't tell 
And just to make sure that you keep it to yourself 
I've started digging holes myself 
And this one here's for you 
"Lifted our girl, she apparently doesn't know of it 
Hello misses, thought she'd be a little girl 
Bloody obscene, catch pneumonia or something in this rain"