Cruz de Marihuana

Bury me in the mountains,
With wolves from my pack.

When I die,
Raise a marijuana cross,
With ten bottles of wine,
And a hundred nailed decks.

After all, it was my destiny,
To walk the wrong path.

In my coffin, cocaine,
My treasures of bullets.

Enjoyed everything in life,
Jewels, women, and gold,
I was a drug trafficker,
Who crawled through the mud.

Upon my grave, raise,
A marijuana cross.

I don't want tears or prayers,
Nor sacred ground.

Bury me in the mountains,
With wolves from my pack.

That marijuana cross,
Be watered with fine liquors,
Seven days a week,
And play my tunes.

Over my grave, the band,
There sing my songs.

Let my memory be written,
With poppy gum.

And let it be said with bullets,
The fame of my guns,
For Sinaloan roosters,
The land is our glory.

Upon my grave, raise,
A marijuana cross.

I don't want tears or prayers,
Nor sacred ground.

Bury me in the mountains,
With wolves from my pack.