Dead Man's Chorus

I roll slow through these streets, where the whores work for tips and the blood leaks. Money, a sad joke, hard to keep, I pay the rent, but sleep comes cheap. Caddy cruisin’, windows down, the smell of piss clings to this town. Street cred? What’s that worth? When every man’s born to die, cursed since birth. Gun in the glove box, hands on the wheel, you blink once, you’re six feet deep, that’s the deal. You feel tough, you act hard— but death’s got your name, kid, on a cold steel card. We all hustle, yeah, some win, most lose, the booze, the fights, yeah we sing those blues. Flashing lights in the rearview, close— but I'm running too fast, death’s chasing close. The girls? They fake their smiles just to eat. A dollar buys love that’s dead on the street. You talk big, but you can’t buy time, even the king in his castle won’t make that climb. See, I’ve danced with death, been shot at and hit, but somehow I keep living in this endless pit. You can shine up that car, make it gleam bright, but the reaper don’t care, he’ll take you tonight. So raise a glass, we’re all gonna fall, flesh, bone, blood on the wall. Till then, I keep moving, don’t ask me why— We all pay the rent, till the day that we die.