Oh, we'll all go together when we go,
Though we be up to our ass in ice and snow,
While the band plays Stormy Weather we will snowshoe through the heather
Which is three-point-six-three meters down below. Down Below!
We'll be moving in a long and drunken line
As the snowboarders hot-dog through the pine,
We'll to the Foggy Mountain Breakdown as we undergo the shakedown
Near the entrance to an isotopic mine.
Then we'll all fall together off a cliff;
If we're lucky we'll land in a six-foot drift.
When the Search-and-Rescue finds us we'll have several miles behind us
And our extremities will soon be getting stiff.
We will all go together when we go,
Into an estimated sixteen feet of snow,
We'll walk a metaphoric plank above a hundred-foot barranca,
Then we'll cool our heels a hundred feet below. Feet Below!
Let us all clasp hands and sing this song,
If there's beer near, then nothing can go wrong.
At the vine-covered cottage where we'd hoped to spend our dottage
They'll be laughing up their sleeves the whole night long.
Yes, we'll all go together when we go
And there'll be nobody here to care or know.
We'll be hermetically sealed in a frost-covered field
And they'll find us by our radioactive glow.
-Jerry Dorbin.