VERSE 1 When I die, I want my funeral DJ’ed by Preem… Lower my casket while activating smoke machines. Pyrotechnics erupt as my eulogy is read. You’ll swear, you might forget a nigga's dead… The only bible that is read is the one police mistook for a gun. When I pulled it out, and prayed… all them niggas did was spray… All them niggas did was shoot, but it’s a’ight, though. Silver linings and all that. No use in being spiteful. Besides, I was sick of paying bills, and paying rent, and taking trains to go to work, then go home, then go to sleep, then wake up, then take a shit, then feel like shit for repeating this cycle. What kind of worth do I have if I’m living that life, though… But, think about the Trayvon’s and Mike Brown’s… They were martyred after being murdered. Celebrities unheard of. If this bus pass was the gravity pulling down my mentality Then, I’d gladly shed it to ascend up to the Heavens. Who’s with me? Death isn’t a new phenomenon. Brewing in response to its apathy or nonchalance is a discontent and anger… About damn time. I had to say that shit twice, cuz it’s about damn time. As for me, have Celine Dion pen Grammy-winning ballad about how I died, and all the housewives would cry. Eyes would marvel at my body as the DJ scratches… CHORUS Straight up born in the furnace. Highly flammable shit, you should burn this down. No hand-holding for rebels... Stay hard-headed, never settle. I'ma show you how to use your rage as your power. This place is ours. Tear the walls apart, just... burn it all down. Burn it- Burn it all down. burn it all down. Burn it- Burn it all down. VERSE 2 When I die, I want my headstone to be a game of whack-a-mole at a Chuck E. Cheese. Aww, you shocked? Please. My will might as well be a list of blasphemous wishes granted to me by a genie who's also Christopher Hitchens. Take it or leave it, White America! Here I am! Fear thy man who sees America, thy sham for what it really is... kids. Just peep the scene of my murder. These bullet holes are maps to this scheme. Dream on if you think equality is in existence. My nigga Guille said that every breath of air is political resistance. Didn't get the memo. Wonder if dying meant I settled for the status quo. 'Cuz, it's getting harder laying with this "smile" on my face when my death had to be political. (shit) Living in Obama's nation had me wildin'... Worried about my black ass, 'cuz that nigga's white half is silent. (Damn) Nigga in the oval office tap dancing... (Damn) Moderate democrat ass nigga. We can't win... (Damn) when no one's fighting for us, turning a blind eye. (Who the hell are you?) Lewis M. is the name. (Damn) Zombified heretic is the title I claim. Mind spinning just like the bullet that's still in my brain. I'm just saying... If anything I ever written mattered, you'll tell em to make Rorschach patterns out of my blood splatters, nigga! CHORUS