Use your fuckin' hands mate...

Fuckin' shov'ls.  I see t'e technology we use n' play wit n' smile me a bit.  Sure, as hell as walks in t'e flames of t'e devil's spittin', I use t'is shit m'self. 

But back, in t'e time you all dream of bein' in - damn you'se and your p'irate flicks.  Back t'en, believe t'is wordin' 'r not, t'ere weren't none a shov'l in t'is ground.  We dug wit hands, mate, hands.  Fuckin' bare hands.  Diggin' t'e graves, one by one, dropping 'em stiffs like rocks. 

Ya know w'at?  I liked it.  Damn, I did so.  Felt like an honest day's work t'ere diggin' me like t'at.  On 'our knees, diggin', wit t'e stiff next t' us.  It was kinda like gettin' t' know t'e person, ya know, t'e dead one.  Made dying a little more pers'nal. 

Fuckin' shov'ls. 

Six Feet Under

T'is "six feet under" shit pisses me off just a bi' or so.  Many have fallen t' a grave on t'e waters, salted and not.  Some have fallen right t'ere in a gutter, drowning on t'ere own blood.

Now, I 'a dug me t'ousands a' graves so far n' I can t'll you that we don't stand t'ere wit a tape measur'in the dirt we shovel'in.  F'r m', I dig 'til I get m' fill... eit'er m' hands bleed 'r I get a little t'irsty for s'me whiskey.

Six feet under.  Sure.

Jack Daniels

Once knew t'is poor son-a bitch named Jack Daniels.  Met 'im on t'e road one night.  I jus' got done wit' a fresh dig - scoring some necklaces and a gold toot' - when I see t'is guy on t'e side of t'e road sitting on a barrel.

So I asked him, 'What-cha up to?'

He looks at me, 'Waiting for m' ride.'

'Where?'

'Can't be sharing t'at, no.'

I understood, I nodded.

'I hope he comes t'is time,' Jack Daniels said.

'How long you been waiting?'

'Eight years.'

'T'at's damn prison time!' I said with a laugh.

'Worth it when I share w'at's in m' barrel...'

'W'at's t'at?'

'Best whiskey you'd ever had touch your lips.'

I begged him for a sip but he refused.  So I left.  A week later I heard he was killed that night - a rambling group come by drunker than my Uncle Willy when he found-out he was gonna be fifty n' a Daddy again.  They stabbed Jack Daniels, took his whiskey, and drank it.  Word was i's the best whiskey any of 'em tasted.  So good, t'ose men turned theyselves in for t'e murder. 

Someone also t'ld me t'at Jack Daniels had a son. Boy, I hope his boy finds t'at whiskey rec'p beacuse I sure as hell all mighty be ready for a change off 'a t'e rum.