Patron saint of b-movies
Knuckles inked up at just 15
To me, they were the hands of God
Taking notes and
Blessing all they touch
Born of grime and cheap white trash
Talkin’ shit and ditchin’ class
You grew up and made your way out
Know that I still want to make you proud
I hope your end was as merciful as you were to me
I hope the soil swathed you like the arms of a loving mother
I hope you didn't see me kicking snow at your cemetery
Born of a father like a mayfly
To make an artist out of me
Now I'm older and I've found myself
Making life in the deep, deep south
But I can still smell your ultralight smoke
You used to blow out of that candid mouth
I hope your end was as merciful as you were to me
I hope the soil swathed you like the arms of a loving mother
I hope you didn't see me kicking snow at your cemetery
Born of a father like a mayfly
To make an artist out of me
'Cause even in death you’re teaching me
Like a convict born anew
And any love I’ll come to know
Will be pitiful compared to you
