Don't you ever laugh?

Do you laugh,
As the hearse goes by?
For you may,
be next to die.

They wrap you up,
In a big white sheet.
From your head,
Down to your feet.

They put you in,
A big, black box.
And cover you up,
With dirt and rocks.

All goes well,
For about a week.
And then your coffin,
Begins to leak.

The worms crawl in,
The worms crawl out.
The worms play Pinochle,
On your snout.

They eat your eyes,
They eat your nose,
They eat the jelly,
Between your toes.

A big green worm,
With rolling eyes.
Crawls in your stomach,
And out your eyes.

Your stomach turns,
A slimy green.
And pus pours out,
Like whipping cream.

You put it on,
Some moldy bread.
A fine meal,
For one who's dead.

Credited to Alvin Schwartz