Chris Whitley
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.

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