Don’t Lie at My Funeral (Alt 3)

If they show up to pray, tell ‘em they’re late. I’ve already made my peace in gunpowder and hate.

Don’t call me saint, don’t call me son, I bled for every wrong I’ve done. You want clean stories? Find another man, I burned my halo with my own hand.

Don’t lie at my funeral, don’t play it sweet, Don’t turn my dirt to something neat. Say I fought, say I sinned, say I spit in fate’s grin — But don’t you dare make me holy again.

I drank my truth, I fought my kin, Never begged a god to let me win. The road raised me, the grave’ll feed, But I never knelt, and I never plead.

Don’t lie at my funeral, don’t fix my name, Don’t dress my fire in another man’s shame. Say I laughed when I should’ve bled, Say I lived too hard instead.

Tell the preacher I won’t stay down, Tell the worms I’ll take their crown. If truth hurts, let it bite — I ain’t lookin’ for no light.

Don’t lie at my funeral, don’t bow your head, I ain’t gone quiet — I ain’t dead. I’m the gunshot still hangin’ in the wind, The echo that don’t give in.

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