My late paternal Grandad used to trot out a little prose that I could never understand. The trouble is I can’t wholly recall it in its entirity. Or even recall it accurately other than it started (in a curiously Donald Rumsfeldesque way):
“If it wasn’t for the good times we should have had but haven’t”
“but there ain’t no pockets in the shroud”.
Any ideas? Clearly it was, in retrospect, a fairly dour prose to trot out as your party piece