Got the Gunther blues

Well, some guys get cremated
And some go under the ground
But I'll tell you what you can do
When I am not around
You can wrap me in a blanket
And prop me up bed
Bury me under the floorboards
Make an ashtray from my head
You can stuff me you can mount me
Use my body as a door
But don't, please don't,
Dissect me on Channel 4

You can feed me to the fishes
Use my arm to clean the dishes
You can even put me in a dress
And call me your missus
You can cut me up in pieces
And serve me to the poor
But my only wish is
Don't dissect me on Channel Four.

You can donate me to medical science
Or that bloke who sells cheap pies
Use my body in defiance
Of the laws concening undertakers and common decency
I could be a crash test dummy
Or a thoroughly modern mummy
But don't, oh baby I'm begging you don't
When I'm dead and gone don't
Dissect me on Channel Four

Don't let Gunther get his hands on me baby!