I staggered away from my favourite pub,
The night was dark and still,
And I thought I’d take the short cut home,
That led over Cemetery Hill.

I wobbled along through the cemetery gates,
Begging my legs to behave,
And everything went pretty well, so I thought,
Till I fell down a newly-dug grave.

I made a just feeble attempt to get out,
But it needed no more than a glance
To tell me that in my condition,
I hadn’t the ghost of a chance.

Just then I could hear fast oncoming steps,
That seemed too good to be true,
But before I could ‘Coo-ee’ or offer advice,
In the grave there were suddenly two!

It happened he fell in the grave’s other end,
With no one to cushion his fall;
And he rose like a shot with a high-pitched yelp,
And attempted to scale up the wall.

I hadn’t yet spoken — I’d hardly a chance,
The way he cavorted about,
And I had to admire the way that he fought
To sever all ties and get out.

I felt a bit sad for the poor little guy,
Now acting a little distraught,
I thought he’d relax if I gave him the  drum,
That he wasn’t alone, as he thought.

So I walked up behind him & tapped on his back
As he paused for another wild bid;
‘You CAN’T make it, mate,’ I breathed in his ear —
But by the Lord Harry, he DID!