[Intro: dub bass drops, rimshot echoes into the dark] [Spoken: deep calm male, reading] Obituary. Draft one. Written by the deceased Who is, for the record, still breathin' [Verse 1: deep calm male MC, slow and sure] Born at twenty-six weeks, one pound fourteen, skin like wet paper Doctor told my mama, "Ten percent." She said, "Then he's the ten. See you later" First apartment was a plastic box with two round holes for hands Nurse named Odessa sang off-key at three a.m. like a one-woman band Daddy slid his weddin' ring up my arm, past the elbow, loose Now it won't get past my knuckle. Go 'head. Ask me for the proof Twenty-five, six foot one, and my lungs could blow a door Every breath I pull is a breath somebody fought for [Hook: deep calm male MC, every line echoes] Survived by A one-pound kid and a nurse who sang off-key Survived by Every number that a doctor ever put on me [Spoken heading] Predeceased by [Verse 2: deep calm male MC, colder] Tobias, in the box next to mine, born a week before Had the louder cry, the better name. He never made it out the door I carry him around like a spare set of lungs Every time I say my name, it's two names on my tongue [Spoken heading] Career Kids at school called me Peanut, Shrimp, Half-Pint and Crumb Now I work nights on the third floor, in the same unit I'm from Hands through the holes in a plastic box at three a.m. like a thief Holdin' a hand the size of my thumb, singin' off-key through my teeth [Spoken heading] In lieu of flowers In lieu of flowers, go and hold somebody's baby for a minute In lieu of a eulogy, play this shit with the windows down and the bass in it In lieu of a moment of silence, make the loudest kind of noise Somebody made it for me when I didn't have a voice [Beat Switch: dub breakdown, everything echoes, the bass plays alone] Ten percent They said ten percent I'm the ten [Verse 3: deep calm male MC, rimshot returns, heavy] Papers write the big obituaries early, keep 'em on a shelf Nobody wrote mine, so twenty-five years later I just wrote it myself Seventy more years of edits, and I'll keep the first line the same "He was supposed to be a number, and he made the number a name" [Final Hook: deep calm male MC, echoes ring out] Survived by A one-pound kid and a nurse who sang off-key Survived by Every number that a doctor ever put on me Survived by Me [Outro: spoken, dub echo] Obituary. Draft one. Not for publication Check back in seventy years [End]
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