When I die, I wanna grow into a tree I want 'em to bury me Mixed in with soil and leaves And your son cuts me down I'm still proud I want 'em to hand me down And give me to Goodwill And price me for a dollar Still get shoplifted, hell Torn open just to give a man shelter, shit This paper my motivation My bones are just branches: saplings Twisting, matching Everything I had to live with It's whatever I'm in tune with That's what I hope you take pictures of I struggle to be But We hope whatever grows And your vines run They will define sums That's filling my lungs Look at these paper maché people Construction paper skies Newspaper brains All I need is one match to make 'em dance Stick your hands in They're just waiting for a chance to be candid Maybe go up in flames like ya mans did They don't know what they want They're just asking And still trying to act like they ran shit Ok now maybe if you sketched out your body You wouldn't have to declare yourself sorry Don't put it on me I had to write my own book—I did it sloppy I ain't picking you up And if you bury yourself I ain't digging you up And when you turn into dust I ain't kicking you up And when you get in my way I'm just ripping you up We hope whatever grows And your vines run That's filling my lungs