My dad learned this song from his mother. My brother, my dad, and I sing it at every holiday gathering. :-)

Oh well do I remember the night that Willie died.
Was early in the morning. About twelve o'clock at night.
The cows were warmly sleeping and the birds were making hay
and the sun and moon were shining dark and light.

Twas the forty-third of May when our Willie passed away.
He died harder than he ever died before.
He was sitting in a chair and he didn't like it there
so he got up and he died upon the floor.

We could tell that he was dying by the color of his breath.
We could see the blossom nipping in the bud.
And the doctor said the only way to save our boy from death
was to stop the circulation of his blood.

So we gently filled his head with a boiling can of lead
and we laid our darling Willie down to rest.
And it really was a shame. For that night a burglar came
and he stole the mustard plaster off his chest.

So we filled him up with glue with the hopes to bring him to.
But we only brought him eight or nine or ten.
Then we lay him on his side and he blew his nose and died.
Then he sneezed and blew his nose and died again.

No more upon the mat will he play with kitty cat.
No more between his teeth he'll hold her tail.
No more upon the red hot grates he'll rub her little nose.
For our darling little Willie's kicked the pail.