Rates of Morbidity

 
 
picture this
picture that
picture this''n'that,
                 [ or don'look at nothin'
                         at all. ]
 
I picture them picturing me in my
                  shiny coffin
wit all that silky lining and silky
                     pillows.
 
Of course, there'll be no silky,
                 be'pillowed
shiny cas'kette (Cas'kettle?), yeah,
                    casket,
to put my lifeless , maked-up,
                   corpus into.
 
/ jesuschrist....too fuckin eX'pensive. /
                    
                    I have to admit,
I'd like to have a shiny coffin to  
                         display
my dead ass in, even if only 4-5
                         people
show up to the show.  But no.
                       my meat
w'ill go straight to the old smoky
                       fire'box,
(t'give ye a taste'o hell before ye
                      get there),
 
just like my dead little girl.
just like me dead daddy'o.
 
I want some of me ashes dropped off the Brooklyn Bridge.
I want some of my ashes dropped off the Golden Gate Bridge.
Or
they can go down the nearest toilet....I mean, it ain't gonna  
                                make any difference, y'know?
 
Ah, the joys of the dead. Either be sealed in a box, or shoved into
                                       a fckn flaming oven.
 
At my age, and wit me chronic, fatal dis'ease, that's'bout all there
                                       is to look forward to.
                                              (Picture That)
 
 
fFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
            2020dec2dkzkpoom+godawfulPhotoOfaPhoto