This is a Frank Crumit Version from 1935

WRAP ME UP IN MY TARPAULIN JACKET

A tall stalwart lancer lay dying,
And as on his deathbed he lay,
To his friends who around him were sighing,
These last dying words he did say,

CHORUS:
Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket,
And say a poor buffer lies low,
And six stalwart lancers shall carry me,
With steps, solemn, mournful and slow.

Had I the wings of a little dove,
Far away, far away, would I fly,
Straight for the arms of my true love,
And there would I lay me and die. CHORUS

Then get you two little white tombstones,
Put them one at my head and my toe,
And get you a penknife and scratch there,
Here lies a poor buffer below, CHORUS

And get you six brandies and sodas,
And set them all out in a row,
And get you six jolly good fellows,
To drink to this buffer below. CHORUS

And then in the calm of the twilight,
When the soft winds are whispering low,
And the darkening shadows are falling,
Sometimes think of this buffer below. CHORUS

HTML line breaks added. --JoeClone, 4-Oct-02.