Violets are blue, and roses are red.
Who’d ever thought he’d end up dead.
But now that he is, we know that you’ll find
Spending money on flowers can bring peace of mind.

Sing a song of six-pence, a pocket full of rye.
Everyone who reads this eventually will die.
So buy your flowers in advance and be a kin-folk pleaser.
Come on by before you die – we take Mastercard and Visa!

While walking through Bavaria I came upon a rock
Inscribed it was the tombstone of Johann Sebastian Bach.
The ground was open six feet down, and there the maestro sat,
Erasing papers full of notes, and every sharp and flat.
I said “J.S. you are deceased, why are you not reposing?”
He answered “Yes it’s true I’m dead, but now I’m de-composing.”

To the dearly departed, we know that you farted
When your life here on earth was all spent.
So we’ll bring bloom and blossom, in your casket we’ll toss ‘em,
They’ll look good and stifle the scent.

Some folks like a lily white, perhaps with something lacy.
Some folks like things quite subdued, while others like things racy.
But when your dead, you will not care, so we know you won’t feel jilted.
If the flowers we put on your grave are just a little wilted.

The Dixie Flower Shop
(assumes familiarity with the fact that plastic flowers are quite popular on graves in the south)

An enterprising green-thumbed lass who everyone called Trixie
Opened up a flower shop down in the land of Dixie
She knew that everyone passed on, no matter their location
She sought to make the family plot the aim of her vocation
She put a sign up in her window saying “Jesus Saves”,
Then offered special discounts on fresh flowers for the graves.
But no entry could she make in her financial journal,
For in the south, just like the souls, the flowers are eternal.