Lyrics
DRIVE MY HEARSE: Why you always as serious as a near death experience? The reaper strokes your hair with the sickle while you sleep. My awful temper keeps me on the verge of murder manhunt, any final words? when good intentions leave me the devil takes the wheel. But I should be grateful maybe. I’ll probably live through eighty 5,6,7. Hard labor, I get underpaid, this shitty paycheck, I ain’t your fuckin maid. Do for yourself, keep to yourself, live with yourself, fuck everybody. In the mirror I see a ghost.
Me, myself and I are becoming foes. Ain’t that a trip, ain’t life some shit , show me to the door. But I should be grateful maybe. I’m not sold into slavery. But I wonder who’s gonna drive my hearse. I wonder am I gonna know him. I wonder whose gonna drive my hearse. I wonder who’ll throw the dirt on.
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