Rat, tat, tat ; what is he at,
Pounding merrilly all day ?
Rat, tat, too ; a coffin for you,
The undertaker will say.
Soon or late you'll come to me,
And I must be ready for all, you see.
Rat, tat, tat; that's what I am at,
Making your house for eternity.
You have gold and silver I'm told,
And servants at your command ;
You grind them down into the ground—
You own all the village land
Sooner or later the ill wind blows,
And up to the daisies you'll turn your toes :
Rat, tat, too ; a coffin for you,
A box and a hole where your bones repose.
And so I sing to the hammer's ring ;
Life is as merry to me
As those who grind down human kind
And rob them of liberty.
Soon or later, with all their gold,
The worms will reduce them into mould ;
Rat, tat, too ; a coffin for you,
And a shroud your crumbling corpse to enfold
Rat, tat, tat ; that's what I'm at,
Pounding merriilly all day ;
Large and small, coffins for all,
You are all coming my way.
Soon or later, with all your wealth
Disease will crumble your boasted health ;
Rat, tat, too ; a coffin for you ;
But you leave behind all your gain by stealth.
--The Coming Nation.
Notes
From the Tasmanian Newspaper The Clipper 13 Jun 1896 p. 8.
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