So my manager, Jimmy da C, rings me up da other day an says he got me this gig in some dump by da name of Shitstable. Wants me to do a little supporting skit for some schmuck performing ‘artiste’ called Chawson. I ain’t never heard of dis Chaw-son-of-a-bitch I say. Something about sandcastles says Jimmy. Sandassholes I says. I don’t support nobody, nobody don’t support me! Don’t no nobody ask me what to do! I’m head of da bill, I tells him. I’m top of da pops. Dere have been some folks who decided to take advantage of my success to make damselves a career. Dey are nothing but a miserable bunch of lowlife bastards. I’ve paid the price, they can’t afford it. I’ve laid a lotta pipe in my time. I’m going to make like a ham sandwich all over this piece of shit.
Shitstable, is dat near da Playboy Hotel and Resort in Lake Geneva? No shit, says Jimmy, he say – it’s more like Philly. That’s my home town. Where do you get off tellin’ people dat? You tryin to be funny? Whatda fuck would a famous handsome guy like me want to do in a shit hole like that? He says this freekin Chawson character is going to be dere and wants me to give hims a supporting stagements. Then he says some more shit about sandcastles. I say I’ll sandpaper da smile awf his face and stick a cheesesteak up his ass. How does he even deserve to be on da same bill as me – I mean who does this guy think he is? I am the performing artiste.
So I goes and makes up little song about him down the phone – just to show that I do anything on da spot, dat I’m the professional around here. I got class and timin, do be do be doooo. Here I goes in da chord of C to da toon of Jack da Knife:
O dat Chawson
Better give ma teeth a flossin’
Cause I am da boss n’
He aint not talented poirson
He better not start a double crossin’
Me cause I’m gonna set fire to his balls n’
His ass – Boy, dat sure would be awesome!
Jimmy gets it down on some kinda tape. Sends the limey over dis recordin and a lawyer’s letter demanding $20K, a case of Jack, a couple of strippers an a first class air ticket. We don’t hear nothin for shit.
Turns out dis Chawson’s just some phoney-baloney with a fake name who makes a livin screwin tops on salt shakers. He’s tryin to be funny? He’s about as funny as cancer. Now he’s too faggy to show his real face in public cause he know if he does he gotta answer to me. I’ll nail this schmuck good time. I’ll rip out his heart and leave it in San Francisco. He thinks it’s a good idea to ask me to support him – thinks it might be funny or somethin. Well I’m laughing my ass off.
He don’t gone none of my talent, he’s a chicken shit wise ass. He wants a piece of my ass – if he wants it he better go and buy himself some rent boy cause my ass is mine. Getcha hands off me Chawson! If he don’t know me already dan he’s some ignorant jerkoff, because I’m da one and only, da greatest performer in da entire world. I do it my way. It’s my way or da high way. He’ll do it my way or its bye bye way. Dat’s what I say.