The Suit That Never Aged

They buried me sharp, they buried me clean, Three-piece black and a soul gone lean. But the dirt don’t age what’s already cold, And the stitch still shines like the story I sold.

Walked out the grave like a man on time, Cigarette glow and a nickel dime. Moon hit silk, dust hit bone, You can’t kill style when it walks alone.

Tailor cut the devil’s thread, Fit for the living, made for the dead.

The suit that never aged, Still fits me fine. Blood on the cuff, whiskey on the line. The suit that never aged, Black as my vow — Still turning heads, still keeping the crowd.

Walk in smoke, leave sparks behind, Ain’t no past when you kill the time. Preacher blinked, sheriff froze, Said, “That man’s been dead since ’84.”

Yeah, but some debts stay clean and pressed, And I wear mine like Sunday best.

The suit that never aged, Sharp through sin. Buttons shine where my bones been. The suit that never aged, Tailored by fate — Still walks tall through heaven’s gate.

Steel and smoke, cufflinks of chrome, I’m a ghost with a swagger, a man-made tombstone. Don’t need forgiveness, don’t need a name — When you look this good, they forget your shame.

The suit that never aged, Still fits the crime. Every step I take steals more time. The suit that never aged, Won’t fade, won’t tear — ‘Cause death got style, And I still wear.

Yeah… Still fits just right.

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