Pushing his bad luck

There he was.  Mad as hell,
Six feet under and going to bones.
Not finding it funny.
He'd been promised seven lives.
There he was, eating dirt after death number six.
Not funny.
True, he wasted life number six
With lots of wine women and songs
Not a care in the world,
Forgetting about the mission given to him
He was a hitman, after all.
 
So he ate dirt but made it above ground
Not a ptetty sight
Stood in the road. totally scaring the uncoming driver
Got him out of the car, killed him, took clothes
Money identity car and drove off
 
Drove off much too quickly
As usual ignoring  the road signs
Was rammed in by a monster truck
And died instantly.
 
For the last time.