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"What Are Folk Like?"

Black Jack's Dead (Justin Ward)

This song is about the funeral of somebody you hate, on a sunny summer day. My Dad happens to have been called Jack,

but don't get the idea it's about him; it's more about the death of hatred and that weird custom of throwing stuff on the coffin.

C minor.

This is the kind of day that makes his kind of job worthwhile
The sun's up in the sky and the bells ring out a country mile
No rice, confetti, everybody on their best behaviour
It's times like this that people feel the need of a saviour

It's just the sort of day that you'd wish for yourself if you could
Even the secondhand hole in the ground looks good
Everybody lining up opposite the undertaker
The one on his back is going off to meet his maker

I know what it feels like to grieve and to mourn
And I know how it feels to wish that you'd never been born
Dancing now wouldn't feel polite
But we're gonna hit every bar in town tonight
And we'll throw some dirt down on his head
Just to make sure Black Jack's dead

When I heard the priest telling us he'd finally conquered death
I was too far away to smell any whisky on his breath
And then he told us all to bow down our heads and pray
But I already had what I'd been praying for every day

I know what it feels like to grieve and to mourn
And I know how it feels to wish that you'd never been born
Dancing now wouldn't feel polite
But we're gonna hit every bar in town tonight
And we'll throw some dirt down on his head
Just to make sure Jack is dead

Dancing now wouldn't feel polite
But we're gonna hit every bar in town tonight
And we'll throw some dirt down on his head
Just to make sure Black Jack's dead

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