The shadow of the undertaker creeps across your floor
Go lock up all your children and paint blood upon your door
These hills are filled with whispers of a man all dressed in black
At the toll of death's knell [bad word] from [bad word] to drag some whoreson back
That old Bible speaks of angels doing service up to the Lord
The undertaker knows no master, he drinks from any cuphoard
Just as banshee's wails are warnings that someone that same day will die
The undertaker he states the same, I'll be goddamned if he tells a lie

The undertaker raises no hand but all fear him just the same
His presence foretells both blood and death yet he shoulders not the blame
Like the shadow of a vulture circling blackly overhead
The undertaker is drawn to death like a knife is drawn to red