Reggae Mortis

I find it very, very scary
to be diggin’ in a cemetery
in a cool Jamaican breeze.
There’s a zombie!
I set it free!
I let it loose from his grave.
Kingstontown is no more safe.
An experiment malign
with a reggae Frankenstein.

Reggae Mortis, I think I’ve got
Reggae Mortis, hell, I hope it’s not
Reggae Mortis, I’m stiff in the knees
JAH damn this disease!
Reggae Mortis, I think I’ve got
Reggae Mortis, hell, I hope it’s not
Reggae Mortis, I’ll get to the point
it’s messin’ up my joints!
Now, as I stand on this cliff
with a zombie who is miffed
I ask myself, “What if
I were to give that stiff a spliff?”

Reggae Mortis, I think I’ve got
Reggae Mortis, hell, I hope it’s not
Reggae Mortis, I’m stiff in the knees
JAH damn this disease!
Reggae Mortis, I think I’ve got
Reggae Mortis, hell, I hope it’s not
Bella Morte, won’t leave me alone.
It’s smokin’ up my bones!

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