Will you please stop laughing?


It ain’t that funny.

So stop with the hyena act.

Can I help it I got active hormones?

I just got to get a different woman every night, other wise I get bored

Just give me a drink and stop laughing.

Bartenders ain’t supposed to be wise asses.

Okay, so I admit the blonde turned my lights on the moment she walked through the door.

How the hell am I to know that she’s Mary’s sister?

Yeah, that Mary – sweet Mary who gives me what I need when nobody else is around to get it.

Mary, whose talk of love does about as much for my sex drive as a bucket of ice.

And yes, the same Mary who finally told me to get lost, or drop dead or both.

Mary didn’t come in with the blonde so I just strutted over to see if I could help the little lady in any way.

Yes, yes, I did my star trip.

Will you please hold it down? People are looking this way and if they see you laughing they might start laughing, too, and I might have to find another bar to play in.

I hate people laughing at me.

Anyway, this blonde doesn’t know who I am or that I play here with the band.

While that’s a bit of a drag it’s also a blessing since I’ve been with so many women here word has gotten out about me.

Some chicks even call me a heal if you can believe that.

I start my rap with the blonde, figuring I can dazzle her with bullshit long enough to get her out to my car.

Then in comes Mary, screaming across the bar for me to stop.

Sure, you laugh. I seem to remember hearing your chuckle then, too.

You even got snide and asked me: “what are you going to do now, lover boy?”

Okay, I admit I was in a pickle.

Mary yapped at me like a French poodle — so loud every chick in the joint got the message even if Mary’s blonde sister didn’t.

Mary tells me to get away from her.

So I did.

I know Mary, and I didn’t need her to bang no bottle over my head.

I settle here and Mary lays into the blonde with terrible stories about me.

Only –

The blonde kept looking over at me with that curious hungry look girls get when they want to play with fire.

That’s when I get an idea and go over to Brillo-faced Beatrice, the girl so ugly and fat people keep trying to sit on her thinking she’s an stuffed arm chair.

Beatrice is a virgin and like it that way – as if she’s got a choice.

So when I tell her Mary told me Beatrice wants to beat me off in my car, Beatrice takes a flying leap at Mary, a tackle any one of the New York Giants would envy.

Sure, I grabbed the blonde’s hand and headed for the dressing room.

Who knew Mary could move soc quick to get out of Beatrice’s way

Or how she grabbed up a bottle without you stopping her.

Okay, stop laughing and get me more ice.

God knows no girl will go with me tonight with a lump this side of my head.

Will you stop laughing and stop calling me lover boy.



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