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.
