Weep no more for Uncle Albert,
Somewhere in the Necronet.
Out here all his fond relations
Divvy up what they can get.
To young Tim I leave my motor,
Toby gets my scarf,
Tom Boy, you can have my muffler,
And my book of Garth.
Not a chair left there to sit on,
Not a sofa you can get on,
Picture patches on the wall,
Rolled-up lino in the hall,
Hinges taken from the butt,
Turfs are raised and flowers cut.
And Auntie looks a little queer,
She comes up sixty-five this year.
But weep no more for Uncle Albert,
He's above it now.