Damn, they're gonna miss him.
Not 'cos they loved him.

They're really gonna miss
his well-digging arms
and log-splitting chest
and hen-chasing legs
and plough pulling ass.

They ain't gonna miss his face.
He looked the same as the rest.

I really hated him
for always smiling at them -
his broken tooth crushing his pride...
But I loved him enough
to wish that he'd died in bed.
Not with his back bent over hay;
The plantation's offering
to the smoking sun.

Damn, I'm gonna miss him.