I didn't know much about history, geography, a science book or the French i took which is why i was never invited onto any pub quiz teams but i know you have to be a special type of talent to make a song of prisoners working on the side of the road sound like a love ballad. Despite being a deeply religious man, i was a bit of a philanderer, during my group stage before going solo i had 3 pregnant girlfriends, all at the same time, and it was trying to get my leg over a fan that led to my untimely death.
I brought a female fan back to my room at the Hacienda Motel in Los Angeles for drinks and then a spot of sex but after the drinks and getting naked, i went to the toilet only for her to get cold feet and run out the room, grabbing my clothes along with hers, leaving only one of my shoes.
Being drunk, and naked except for one foot, i tracked down the manager of the hotel and demanded i be allowed to search her office for the missing girl and my clothes but strangely, she didn't like the idea of an angry, naked black man raiding her office for underwear so i grabbed her, she grabbed a gun and shot me in the chest, killing me.
Bobby Womack was my friend since childhood and was a member of my first band, and he showed up at my funeral in my car with my wife wearing one of my suits.
Three months after my death he married my wife and cheated on her with my daughter which sounds awful but to be fair, roles reversed, i would have done exactly the same.
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