The racing hearse was never too busy
To join a drag race on the strip;
Though sometimes, it wasn’t any too pretty-
How the coffins would scoot and dip.
The racing hearse had a job to do,
And do it he did, sooner or later,
But at the sound, of a drag race in town,
The hearse was always the last tail-gater.
The hearse driver was determined to race,
Though his vehicle was clumsy and slow,
And at the sound of some screaming engines,
The hearse was always bound to show.
Many years passed and the driver died;
Many attended his funeral, to see,
If a hearse would race his body to the grave-
But of course, this could never be.
Still through the years, the tales passed down
Of a noise like engines, at the old graveyard-
And of a dark vehicle, suddenly appearing
In the middle of a drag race, just to spar.
Later no one could find the hearse
Who had left the other cars in the dust;
And so the myth continued to grow,
Of the hearse drivers undying lust.
After a while, it was common knowledge,
That on its last trip, with the family,
A misty apparition would always race
The body, to the final resting place.
One day, the town took up a collection
And bought a prize ribbon, large and red;
And placed it upon the hearse drivers stone-
And thereafter, he stayed peacefully dead.