Some will die in hot pursuit and firey auto crashes
Some will die in hot pursuit while sifting through my ashes
Some will fall in love with life and drink it from a fountian
That is pouring like an avalance coming down the mountain
“Pepper” by the Butthole Surfers

Some will itch their empty palms and pray unto the Good Lord;
some will itch their empty palms and Sharpie over cardboard.
Some will earn their daily bread and they will be the winners
who get a taste of good life livin’ while the rest of us get thinner.

Few are born to silver spoons as shiny as their smiles –
perfect teeth and tender feet and wider airplane aisles.
Few are born to lucky hands in the card game we all play:
whether we can raise or fold, at the table we all stay.