The Last Will and Testament of Jake Thackray

I, the under-mentioned, by this document
 Do declare my true intentions, my last will, my testament
 When I turn up my toes, when I rattle my clack, when I agonise,
 I want no great wet weepings, no tearing of hair, no wringing of hands,
 No sighs, no lack-a-days, no woe-is-me's and none of your sad adieus
 Go, go, go and get the priest and then go get the booze, boys
 Death, where is thy victory? Grave, where is thy sting?
 When I snuff it bury me quickly, then let carousels begin
 But not a do with a few ham sandwiches, a sausage roll or two and "A small port wine, please"
 Roll the carpet right back, get cracking with your old Gay Gordons
 And your knees up, shake it up, live it up, sup it up, hell of a kind of a time
 And if the coppers come around, well, tell them the party's mine, boys
 Let best beef be eaten, fill every empty glass,
 Let no breast be beaten, let no tooth be gnashed
 Don't bother with a fancy tombstone or a big-deal angel or a little copper flower pot
 Grow a dog-rose in my eyes or a pussy-willow
 But no forget-me-nots, no epitaphs, no keepsakes; you can let my memory slip
 You can say a prayer or two for me soul then, but make it quick, boys
 Lady, if your bosom is heaving don't waste your bosom on me
 Let it heave for a man who's breathing, a man who can feel, a man who can see
 And to my cronies, you can read my books, you can drive around in my motor car
 And you can fish your trout with my fly and tackle, you can play on my guitar,
 And sing my songs, wear my shirts, you can even settle my debts
 You can kiss my little missus if she's willing then, but no regrets, boys
 Your rosebuds are numbered
 Gather them now for rosebuds' sake
 And if your hands aren't too encumbered
 Gather a bud or two for Jake