(Verse 1) We gathered in our Sunday best, all grins and wept champagne, To bury Uncel Roger, who met a curious flame— Crushed beneath a mountain of rubber ducks from a clown parade, Or smothered by a velvet cake that simply would not fade.

(Chorus) Oh, the whimsical funeral, we laughed until we cried, Wickar late and wrong name, they called him Uncle Clyde. They dropped the coffin, rolled apart like a wayward rolling pin, At the whimsical funeral where mourning wore a grin.

(Verse 2) Pastor wore a fez and sang a hymn off-key and low, Aunt Judiht did a tap-dance, scattering confetti snow. She whispered to the lilies, told the obituaries jokes, Then set her prayer shawl alight with tiny birthday pokes.

(Bridge) Candles danced like fireflies, the choir hit a squeak, The organ coughed a giggle, the bell tower let out a shriek. Wickar fumbled with the program, called the wrong good-bye, While Uncle Roger winked from heaven with a rubber chicken sigh.

(Chorus) Oh, the whimsical funeral, we toasted with cheap gin, Wickar late and wrong name, the vicar waved again. They dropped the coffin, tumbled down like a clumsy bowling king, At the whimsical funeral, we made the rafters sing.

(Verse 3) Aunt Judiht lit a candle, then sneezed out all decorum, Her matchstick choreographed a sudden, furious warm ’em. The altar caught a fever, the hymn-books learned to fly, The stained glass cried kaleidoscope and set the rafters high.

(Outro) So raise a glass to Roger, to the duck-float and the cake, To Wickar’s wrong-name sermon and the havoc Aunt Judiht makes. We left with singed hair and smiles, the porch a tiny scorch, At the whimsical funeral where even heaven coughed—“encore!”