What Was He Saying?

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”

…and ended

“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


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