Yeah, well, nothing comin’ to mind
With a major case of writer’s block.
So I scratched out my obituary,
In case they might need it sometime.
Hard tellin’ what non-descript crap
They’d put down on their own.
When Mama died, the funeral man
Said a good paragraph in the paper
Cost three dollars, a one liner was free.
Sister said, “We’ll take the free one.”
Moron! Mama not worth three bucks
To put a decent spiel of a send off?
Got mine done, all nice and colorful.
Then added some crazy shit for a laugh.
I got no 100% DNA match with Godzilla,
Ain’t never partied in Lennon’s tomb,
And I am no longer wanted in France.
Whoa, better check on that last one.
Then I up and lost the thing somewhere,
Maybe at the laundromat or some bar.
Anyway, somebody found it and, hey,
It made the top spot on the obit page
Of the local weekly chronical. Ring.
“Hello? No I ain’t dead you sick bastard.
And you still owe me that twenty bucks.”