Last Dance

All the time, folks say they can’t wait for me to up and die.
My funeral’s gonna be one hell of a party.
Clowns and dancers and musicians and fire-eaters.
Hell, I got the perfect spot for it.
There’s this dancehall I grew up around.
Everybody there, they know me.
They’re the folks who wanna see me croak.
So, when I go, they’ll have a big party there.
And bury me under the dancefloor.
That way, for the rest of their days, they don’t have to travel to dance on my grave.
Hey, it’s the least I can do.