Made From Dirt

When I die and turn the weed 
Don't let no man come clone my seed 
Just lay me out in my birthday shirt 
And I will prove I was made from dirt 
I was made from dirt 

From the ghetto here to the evening sky 
Why the blood will rise to testify 
(not sure about this bit) 

When the uniforms wear you raw 
And the currencies all turn to straw 
Then await me there in your birthday shirt 
Then I will prove you're made from dirt 
That you're made from dirt.