You’ll remember Part 1. You better fuckin remember Part 1.
Anyway it’s my solemn duty to teach you some things, undeserving as your pretty-boy ass is.
Okay so let’s say you’re with Fat Louie. Guy like Fat Louie, he makes his own name up. You think some dumb motherfucker is gonna up and call him Fat Louie? You’re less advanced than even I pegged you to be. Anyway, so Louie. You’re with Fat Louie. He’s your boss. He’s also the boss, as it happens, of a lot of other people who are also your boss, let’s get that straight. You ain’t shit, but that’s not your fuckin fault. How could you possibly be expected to be responsible for not being shit? You couldn’t. Only way you could be responsible for not being shit is if you were shit, and you ain’t, so end of fuckin story.
Anyway stop interrupting me, what the fuck. You’re with Fat Louie and he’s your boss and so is a hundred other guys, and don’t you even think about bristling about that fact you ungrateful fuck, you spineless maggot fuck of a cleaners-experience-having shitwad. If you so much as whisper that you know what the fuck you’re doing I’ll rip that smirk off your face with my two weakest fingers. I will literally tear the lips from your face. You don’t have experience; you have ears to listen, and this is only a hypothetical so what the fuck, shut up and listen. And the hypothetical is that you’re with Fat Louie and he needs you. Only fuckin time you can ever even contemplate a guy like Fat Louie needing you, and it’s because you know how to work magic with a stain. Now I’m not actually talking about you, remember this is a hypothetical; in reality I’m talking about me because I’m a fuckin magician with stains and you ain’t shit and your mother knows it too.
Fuck you. You know what, I’m done. Fuck you. Sleep with your eyes open.
Ain't gonna be an ink stain you keep lookin at me like that
