(Verse)
I’m a writer and a luva
I’m a Midwest music man
And I’ve been to a lot of places
But I’m gon’ end where I began
I took class in Carolina
Got high smokin' joints
And now they know my name in Paris

(Chorus)
But I’ll be buried in Detroit
Next to my father, and my father’s father too
I used to live in New York City
But baby that ain’t no substitute
Not for my hometown
That place people avoid
I’ve made luv in every city
But I’ll be buried in Detroit

(Verse 2)
I don’t claim to be a prophet
I just speak my mind
I try to tell it like it is
And sometimes God makes it rhyme
I like my songs how I like my women
Honest and to the point
U see, I got fucked up in Stockholm

(Chorus)

(Verse 3)
U know I ain’t gon’ live foreva
Baby it won’t be long at the wake they’ll say 
'He made a lot of mistakes but he could write hell of a song'
And I made, I made killin', tho' I neva really was employed
I had a girl from San Diego

(Chorus)