I live in the cemetery ol’ caretaker they call me                         in the wintertime I rake the leaves and in the summer I cut the weeds.                                 When a funeral comes the people cry and pray              they bury their dead then they all go away          and here I work and I somehow hide     from a world that rushes by outside.        But each night when I rest my head     I’m contented as the peaceful death.                 But who’s gonna cry when old John dies     who’s gonna cry when old John dies ?                   Once I was a young man dashing with the girls                       now no one wants an old man I lost my handsome curls.                              But I wanna say when my time comes     lay me facing the rising sun     put me in the corner where I buried my pup        tell the preacher to pray then cover me up.         Don’t plant flowers where my head should be         maybe God would let some grow for me.              And all the little children that I love like my own     will they be sorry that old John’s gone ?               Who’s gonna cry when old John dies     who’s gonna cry when old John dies ?