If I were to die today [Haters ... wait! ... don’t even think about it. “That” ain’t happening!. I still have at least 135 more years to go] and I end up at the front steps of the door of heaven [Yes! ... Haters, I’m going to heaven!], in front of Saint Peter. If he asks me: “Do you regret not doing something down there in your world?” - I would say, “Yes! Mr. Peter, I regret that my rusty waist/hips couldn’t get that reggae thing right!”
If St. Peter feels sorry for me, I would also say: “You know Mr. Peter, I loved my life. If you want, you can send me back to my lovely planet. Maybe I would find a hot chick that will whip me with her hips and un-rust my oxidized waist.”
And of course, after he hears my comment you know where he is going to send me, right. - Yeap! - To a Caribbean Island, with a hot Island Chick [to get me some training] - Yeaah Baby!
p.s. I can’t wait for my Island Girl to say to me: “I got all I need. - No, I ain’t got cash. I ain’t got cash. But I got you baby. Baby I don’t need dollar bills to have fun... [I love cheap thrills!]. I don’t need no money [u worth more dan diamond, more dan gold]. As long as I can feel the beat. I don’t need no money, as long as I keep dancing.”