Last Words

It’s hard to get with Things that I forget So I decide to call it quits Because of a lack of wit But to forget what’s forgotten Like memories of picking cotton Does nothing but show us A mind that’s rotten With the strength of oxen With Flintstones rocking’ But as my strength is drained I hear heaven a knocking’ Knocking’ on the door Of those rich and poor So I prepare myself To go where I have never gone before Wanting to tell you more About the days of yore Time for me to go Heaven’s knocking on my door.