And don't ya be bitchin' bout the fews and two, when they's holes in dem pockets and the snow's done wasted down yo gams.....Git dem glasses on and a pigeon with a can to hold that stuff! This ain't some Universal Moment, you mitt-pounding ass-lick....just old talk what done made yo grandpa a cool dude afore he work on the line 40 years till his Social Security Benefits and TV watching times....

Trilly to truck off to cups after a killer-diller day of muggin' 'n' frisking my whiskers, I'm sure my pink rug cutters be slidin' they jibs to some solid skins to dat square hide-beating dork what's evah nosed in a book, supposin' he's fausting some mellow high yellow queen 'n' maybe done already tossed her fat ass in the clambake with dem gutbucket rappers, posing in big-leg poly pants, like they hard gate hicks just off the cob...Well, for my meter, dis rif ain't playin' cepting some rolls between them lily whites, latched down on dat stinky feather bed....but, copping attitude while too whipped up, I's likely to jus git togged to the bricks for some sweet gravy, like this jivetalk is main kick dime note material....Yeah, sure!...All my Jack friends be salting my tail, ridin' my jib slides......Latch on or break it up ya thumbing hide-beaters, I'm gonna lay some line over that bongo riffing and trip up to the Land O' Darkness fo some dry goods with square shoulders, you button-downs! Gimme a dime fo cab fare, why won't ya! An...don't you call me 'Endicott', August Darnell!