A Quote by Phil Anselmo
When I die bury me in smoke.
Related Quotes
Please don't die," she whispered. "I don't think I can bury you. I already buried everyone else." "How can I die," Alexander said, his voice breaking, "when you have poured your immortal blood into me?
When I die, they'll bury the blues with me. But the blues will never die.
When I die, bury me on my stomach and let the world kiss my ass.
She smiled with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning and said, "Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die." - Alaska
Smoke the pipe of peace, bury the tomahawk, and become one nation.
I'm hunger. I'm thirst. Where I bite, I hold till I die, and even after death they must cut out my mouthful from my enemy's body and bury it with me. I can fast a hundred years and not die. I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze. I can drink a river of blood and not burst. Show me your enemies.
When I die, they might as well bury me at the finish line at Churchill Downs so they can run over me one more time.
When I die and they come for me bury me a g.
Even if I wanted, I cannot do anything. When they die, we always send for their co-religionists. Muslims take the Muslim's body to bury it, Hindus come and take away the dead to be cremated and Christians come and bury their dead.
Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.
Talk uses up ideas. Once I have spoken them aloud, they are lost to me, dissipated into the noisy air like smoke. Only if I bury them, like bulbs, in the rich soil of silence do they grow.
So what’s the use of repentance, and what do you care for goodness, and what if you should die in a quake, so who the hell cares? So I walked downtown, so these were the high buildings, so let the earthquake come, let it bury me and my sins, so who the hell cares? No good to God or man, die one way or another, a quake or a hanging, it didn’t matter why or when or how.
Yeah, man. It's time to let de people get good herbs and smoke. Government's a joke. All dey wan' is ya smoke cigarettes and cigar. Some cigar wickeder den herb. Yeah, man, ya can't smoke cigar. Smoke herb. Some big cigar me see man wit', God bless! Me tell him must smoke herb.
I once said, 'We will bury you,' and I got into trouble with it. Of course we will not bury you with a shovel. Your own working class will bury you.
Christmas Pie Lo! now is come our joyfull'st feast! Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy leaves is dressed, And every post with holly. Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning; Their ovens they with bakemeats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie, And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, And ever more be merry.
If you die, I will bury you in the sandhills with all the other runners.
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