Made From Dirt
Chris Whitley
When I die
And turn to weed
Don't let no man
Come clone my seed
Just lay me out
In my birthday shirt
And I will prove
I was made from dirt
I was made from dirt
From the ghetto here
To the evening sky
Why, the blood will rise
To testify, oh
And I relieve [?] my sister's shirt
Up from the lowered sky
Was made from dirt
Was made from dirt
When the uniform
Gonna wear you raw
And the currency
All turn to straw
Then await me there
In your birthday shirt
Then I will prove
You're made from dirt
That you're madе from dirt
