My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf So it stood ninety years on the floor. It was taller by half than the old man himself Though it weighed not a pennyweight more. And though years would congeal Grandpa's brain to malt-o-meal He'd one wish that would not be denied For his will said to bury him in the clock When the old man died. Now grandfather's grandfather built him the clock And he built it like no clock before. But the old so-and-so built it so high and wide That we can't fit it out through the door. So when Grandma'd been calmed and Grandpa had been embalmed We discovered the clock was too wide But the G-d damned cadaver had gotten jammed; He was stuck inside. So old grandpapa's standing there in the hallway At Nine-Seventeen Cherry Lane. And he stands, the old cuss, making faces at us Which we try to ignore just the same. But we still think of him as we haggard, pale, and grim, Stagger into the cold morning's light, 'Cause at odd times he's ringing the blasted chimes Every G-d damned night. So at 3:22 A.M. (ding-dong, ding-dong) "My G-d, there goes Gramps again!" (ding-dong, ding-dong) At odd times, he's ringing the blasted chimes Every G-d damned night.