Oh, when I die, bury me in straight laced shoes.
A box backed suit and a Stetson hat;
Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain.
So the boys'll know I died standin' pat.

I want six crap shooters for pall bearers.
Chorus girl to sing me a song.
Put a jazz band on my hearse wagon.
Raise Hell as I roll along.

Roll out your rubber tired carriage,
Roll out your old time hat.
Twelve men going to the graveyard
And eleven coming back.

Now that I've told my story,
I'll take another shot of booze.
And if anyone should happen to ask you,
I've got those gamblers' blues.