Lyrics

[INTRO — a single church bell tolls. Organ hum, solemn. Muffled crying. Then: a screen door bangs open. Footsteps on tile. Someone WHISTLES a tune. The organ stutters. A woman's voice, sharp:]
(spoken, disapproving)
"Boy… you better NOT be grinnin' in here."
(beat of silence)
(Titled1, unrepentant, gold-tooth lisp audible)
"Ma'am… she TOLD me to."
(HORN SECTION EXPLODES IN. Second-line beat KICKS. Tambourine shakes. The whole thing lurches forward like a parade starting.)
[VERSE 1 — strutting, theatrical, a little too loud for a funeral. That's the point.]
Everybody in black, everybody in rows,
Everybody got a tissue and a eulogy and a "rest in peace" pose.
Auntie Mae in the front, got her church hat on TILT,
Pastor sweat through his collar, got a stain on his quilt.
And I walked in— (horn: BAP!)
Late.
Gold tooth catchin' the stained-glass light,
Suit a little too loud, shoes a little too white,
And I AIN'T cryin', no sir, I ain't bowin' my head,
'Cause Nana said, "If I go, don't you DARE act like I'm dead-dead."
She said, "I'm just upstairs. I'm just in the next room.
And if they play that sad organ, I will HAUNT every one of you."
(congregational gasp sound)
She said, "Play some horns. Pour some out. Dance, baby.
And if you wear all black to MY funeral,
I will reach up out that casket and call you CRAZY."
[PRE-CHORUS — building, call-and-response with the choir]
(Titled1)
So I'm grinnin'!
(Choir)
He's grinnin'!
(Choir)
He's grinnin'!
(Titled1)
Gold tooth shinin' in the pew!
(Choir)
He's grinnin'!
(Titled1)
And the deacons lookin' at me like I lost my mind—
(Choir, bigger)
HE'S GRINNIN'!
(Titled1, laughing)
But I ain't lost nothin', baby. I FOUND the whole damn view.
[CHORUS — full gospel choir, horns blaring, tambourine shaking. Big, joyful, defiant.]
Gold tooth grin at the funeral!
(Hallelujah!)
Gold tooth grin at the funeral!
(She told me to!)
She said, "Baby, death is just God callin' you home early,
And I ain't NEVER been the type to show up sad to a party!"
Gold tooth grin at the funeral!
(One more time!)
Gold tooth grin at the FUNERAL!
And if you can't laugh in the house of the Lord,
Then what the hell was the joke FOR?
[VERSE 2 — still funky but more specific, more tender underneath. Memories. The grin wobbles once.]
Now Nana raised three kids on a factory wage,
Fried catfish on Friday, got a mouth full of rage
And a hymn for every occasion, and a switch for every sin,
And a GOLD TOOTH on the left side that caught the light when she'd grin.
She'd say, "Baby, this tooth? This tooth survived three husbands,
Two recessions, one flood, and a church schism in '87.
This tooth seen WORSE than a Tuesday."
And she'd LAUGH— (horn: bap-bap!)
Head back, throat open, the whole kitchen SHAKIN',
And I was eight years old thinkin', "Lord, this woman is a earthquake."
She danced in the kitchen with a wooden spoon mic,
Sang "Amazing Grace" wrong on PURPOSE just to spite the choir,
Put hot sauce on her communion wafer—
(spoken, deadpan)
—Pastor near had a stroke.
And she winked at me across the sanctuary, gold tooth flashin',
Like, "Baby, if God ain't got a sense of humor, why He make platypuses?"
(the grin wobbles here — voice catches, just barely—)
And now she's in the box up front,
Dressed in purple 'cause she HATED black,
And the lilies smell too sweet,
And the organ's playin' somethin' slow,
And I can FEEL the grin start to crack—
(beat. breath.)
But I don't let it.
Nah.
Not in HERE.
Not in front of HER.
She'd pop that lid and say—
(mimicking her, high and sharp)
"BOY. You better get up here and DANCE."
[CHORUS — bigger, louder, the choir is CLAPPING on the two and four]
Gold tooth grin at the funeral!
(Hallelujah!)
Gold tooth grin at the funeral!
(She told me to!)
She said, "I didn't raise you to cry in a building,
I raised you to RAISE THE ROOF!"
Gold tooth grin at the funeral!
(Come on now!)
Gold tooth grin at the FUNERAL!
And the ushers gave up tryin' to make me sit down,
And Auntie Mae took off her hat and said, "…Well, alright then."
[BRIDGE — "THE PREACHER SECTION." Everything drops except a handclap rhythm, a low organ drone, and Titled1 in full preacher cadence. Building and building.]
(preaching, rhythmic, sweating)
And I said, Pastor—
Pastor, you can close the book.
You can fold the program.
You can say the words they taught you in seminary.
But I need you to understand somethin' about THIS woman.
She didn't want your eulogy.
She wanted a TESTIMONY.
She didn't want your sympathy.
She wanted a SECOND LINE.
She didn't want you to whisper, "She's in a better place."
She wanted you to LOUD-TALK,
Pour the sweet tea,
Put the potato salad on the plate,
And say, "That woman was a STORM and I'm glad I got wet!"
(building, almost shouting)
So I WILL grin!
I WILL flash this gold tooth in the face of the Reaper!
I WILL laugh in the house of the Lord!
Because she EARNED that joy!
She BUILT that joy with her HANDS!
And I will NOT—
I will NOT let death have the last word
When she TALKED over everybody her WHOLE LIFE!