Got any last words?

I want this sung at my funeral. It is to be sung as a slow early 1970s country trucker music

I got a fistful of meth, and a song in my heart
hitched up to a big heavy load
gonna fire up the pipe, drive that rig all night
and smoke until my little heart explodes

both feet on the throttle as I piss in a bottle
you’ll feel it when I come inside your town
’cause no matter what it takes, I’m gonna stay awake
’til the shadow people come and shut me down

(Songs need to have a chorus:)
pack up the pipe, pull off the brakes
I’ve been awake now for eight days straight
smoke it to ashes, drive it to death
when you got a big truck and a fistful of meth

well I’m driving eighteen wheels, skipping all my meals
I’ll conquer every highway in this land
for a speedy arrival, the trick to survival
is amphetamine supply on demand

the key to my success, a bit of meth in every breath
when most the time the highway is my home
scraping crystals off the seat, and dodging the police
I’m the highest mother-trucker ever known

(more chorus)
pack up the pipe, pull off the brakes
I’ve been awake now for eight days straight
smoke it to ashes, drive it to death
when you got a big truck and a fistful of meth

well a lot lizard asked if I’d like to try her ass
all she wanted was a hunk of my stash
I hit her with a tire checker, then she bit me in the pecker
that’s when we agreed I’d pay her cash

you might think I’m a sucker for the life of a trucker
but there never was a life so free
a trucker don’t need much, like friends and such
just puffing on that meth amphetamine

(some more stupid chorus)
pack up the pipe, pull off the brakes
I’ve been awake now for eight days straight
smoke it to ashes, drive it to death
when you got a big truck and a fistful of meth

(unintelligible humming)