Picture this, muther fukers rolling and smoking and laughing and rolling in the floor crying and shit like that all at the same damn time saying imma miss that bitch, and holding onto the coffin, please let me see if she really in there,. What I don’t want is for you to see me in my bedtime gear and my, PLEASE put a thirty six pack from Walmart bud light please and Winnie the Poo if he still around in my coffin. MY team of crusaders, I always want for them to grow in numbers, people who really do love me, they are my crusaders and I want to be theirs as well, until our bitter end for some and sweet for others. And them who tried to dig me back up.
My goal is to have more true friends than enemies when I’m dead….
I want those who truly hate to see me depart this planet to be more in number than those who will be glad I’m gone.
My crusaders, super hero type of shit, you know, it’s impossible for one person alone, that’s why we have so many teams, all the muther fukers who wanna put some shit back together, my kinda superhero kinda folks, who wanna see the grass grow and clean waters flow and no more sickness and safer cars and no more killing and no more fear and that place is in that bitch head is now what I hear and how can I make anything meaningful happen when I live in complete fear and any ambition is to be buried with me because it only lives in my head.
Others shall say she was all talk, that bitch ain’t do shit to make that type of shit happen, she ain’t never care bout nobody but herself and now all of a sudden you want me to care for her really, if she really care she would be doing something to help herself and what she can do other than hide in her room running her mouth waiting on a better life to fall in her lap. But she died waiting, and you want me to pity her. Now go ahead and dig her up cause imma piss on her grave, when we get that thirty six pack.
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