Death don't scare me anymore.
Can't use it as a threat.
Been dead a couple times  before,
and look!
I'm still here yet.

Though one thing does still trouble me.
That's HOW I'm going to die.
Might be ridin' on a double D
with a gleam in my eye.

Perhaps my heart will burst.
That'd probably be a rush.
Get dry and die of thirst
or have an untimely brush

with a whacked out psycho killer.
Get run down by a drunk.
Scraped up and used for filler.
Could get buried in a trunk.

Wander out at ten below
without no socks or shoes.
Find me lying in the snow.
Probably make the news.

Might be fishing in my rocker.
Get chewed up by a garr.
Or killed by Betty Crocker.
Nicotine or tar.

I hope I die "in hospital"
with my ass in a sling.
Pumped so full of morphine
wouldn't feel a damn thing.

Maybe suicide's the answer.
That'd be better than a bout
of Luekemia or Cancer.
That's dying inside out.

My friends are dead and gone.
Kinda makes a fella feel
like one foot's in the grave, one's on 
a tiretrack eel.

I'm old and sick and tired.
It's time I bought the farm.
From everything that I've been told
third time'll be a charm.