DRINKING SONG

My com-rades when I'm no more drinking,
But sick with gout or pal-sy lie,
Ex-haust-ed on my sick-bed sing-ing,
Be-lieve me, them my end is nigh.
But die I this day or to-mor-row,
My tes-ta-ment's al-read-y made:
My bur-ial from your hands I'll bor-row
But with-out splen-dor or pa-rade

And when me to my grave you're bringing,
Then follow afd-ter man, by man,
Let me and fun'ral bells be ringing,
But tink-ling glass-es be our plan.
and on my tomb-stone be inscrib-ed,
This man was born, lived, drank and died.
And now he lies here wo im-bib-ed
In all life's joy the purple tide.