Tommy

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Wow, heh heh. You really tell it like it is, K-Tic. You are the king, my brother, you are the king. I got to tell you guys that I love the Cowboys this year. Tony Romo. T.O. Marion the Barbarian. Adam "Don't Call Me Pacman" Jones. Roy "Don't Call Me Montel" Williams. Jason Witten. This team is built to succeed. I give you the Chris Simms Brand of Certainty, this team is winning it all this year.

Yeah.

Haha, yeah. Bet yall dint think I'd be back up in this shit, but I gots sumthin new for yall, fittin to drop dat shit. I been workin wit my mentor from the rizee to the seezee gettin this shit laid down on that mixtape, out on da streets of Wausau, Richconsin Records represent, know I'm sayin? I already done took yall to the "Gas Station", now I'm fittin to educate yall on some "Beef (feat. Crackity Too Tall)" cuz I got lots of it. Check it: Tell me what yall think. I also gots a a little bit of dat slow, a little sumthin fo dat rangtone call "Bitch (Da Shawty is Shoddy)" with Crackity and Sisqo and then one call "Big Ballin." Crackity put this Tom Petty sample on that track, shit be slammin. Aight, I holla at ya. Peace.

My mentor done toll me if I wants to make this rap thang happen, get up out the hood, I need to have that pad and that pen wit me all the time, just writin shit down what happen errday. So I gots a new one for yall, fittin to drop that shit, check it.. Roll up in da hoopty wit da door slangin Stroll up to da counta wit da cell rangin Get some iggs cause dem chickens be free-rangein And some diapers for dem keeds done need changin Chorus It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station Get a packa Newports and a couple Black and Milds And some scratch off tickets wit dem Jokers be wild And a air freshner from the rearview danglin Got that pocket full of pennies and it fittin stop janglin Chorus It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station We roll bout fifteen deep so yall know where we at Wit my auntie Shonique and my lil cousin Dat So when I'm down on my money it's that ratatattat And when I get my pipe full it's that "Where yall Chore Boy at?" Chorus It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station It's that gas station, nigga Just that gas station I also had wrote some bout eatin at MacDonald's, waitin in line at the check cashing sto, and findin 17 cent on the street. Tell me what yall think.

I don't know what the hell you're talking about.

Yeah, I've made some enemies over the years. But who hasn't? You can't just go around being friendly to everyone all of the time. It isn't natural.

See, when I was breaking into the business back in the '40s, showbiz was a man's pursuit. Sure, you had a few fruitcakes here and there, but they were the exception. For every Rock Hudson, you had ten Ronnie Reagans and Jimmy Stewarts and Rock Hudsons to balance things out. Now every damn part I get, I'm having to take direction from some Austrian homo with a ponytail and pants so tight you can make out every wrinkle on his nutsack. It just don't interest me any more. I'm an old man. In the time it takes me to do one damn scene for one of these pictures they're making nowadays, I could do fifty diabeetus commercials for the same money. It didn't used to be like this before the whole damn thing went to the queers.

I don't know what this country's coming to when a man can't enjoy a day at the beach without some got damn papparazo taking happy snaps and putting them in every two-cent supermarket rag in the country. And who in the hell wants to see that, anyway?

First of all, you've got to grab that son of a bitch by his pecker. There's no sense in being shy here, son. You just have to grab him by his pecker and show him who's boss. Now, a lot of the younger cowhands have devices to make this easier, but I prefer the old-fashioned method. What you do is, you have to take that hand you used to grab his pecker just a second ago and grab him by one of his testicles. Now press that testicle up against his nutsack. You're not getting squeamish on me, are you? If you want your beef to sell for shit, this is just something you have to do, son. Now get your knife and cut a hole in his scrotum that's more or less the size of one of his balls. That son of a bitch is going to bleed, so you have to drain all that out of there. Now get your knife up in there and slice up all those cords and such, and that testicle should pop right out. Repeat that process on the other testicle, and you're done. That bastard's nutsack is going to swell up pretty good in the few days after that, so you're going to want to keep an eye on him. If the swelling doesn't go down, you're going to have to get back into his scrotum to squeeze all of the clotted blood out of there. This is all part of being a ranch hand, son. You're not going to make it in this profession if you're afraid to get your hands dirty.

Son, that was a character that I played in a movie. That was the one with those weird little mop creatures, wasn't it? Ewoks. That's what they were. Those costumes stunk to high heaven. I about shit when I walked on that set for the first time. I'll never forget it.

I never had any problem with cocks. Those cocks never had it so good as when I was around. I took good care of them and they took good care of me, if you can follow what I'm saying. It was those bastards in Santa Fe that had a problem with cocks. See, they were trying to pass this law that would outlaw cockfighting in the state of New Mexico. I marched up there, mad as hell, and gave them all of this B.S. about tradition, but the truth is that I was making money hand over fist fighting those little bastards down in Las Cruces every other weekend. I can't for the life of me remember how that story ends.

Well, sir, I believe that'd have to be the Saddle Bronc. When I was riding steers and horses back in the '40s, nobody used a saddle. They would have laughed you right out of the profession. Rodeo's just like anything else nowadays. The government gets its claws into it, and then the Nancies want to come in and change all the rules, and sooner'n you know you can't even recognize the thing anymore. When I was coming up, rodeo was a man's business. Now you got saddles and clowns and all of this nonsense. It's a damn shame, if you ask me.

You're just some kind of smart ass, right? I bet you think you're King Shit because all of these people in the computer think you're some kind of comedian. Well, if you ask me, you're no comedian. You know, I did a USO tour with Bob Hope years ago. That was a comedian. He was even funnier off the stage than he was on it. Yeah, we had some good times. He's dead now, you know.

"Call Liberty to have your diabeetus supplies delivered to your door. They can help you live a better life."

How old are you? You talk like a goddamn queer, if you don't mind me saying.

That Jane Fonda was something to look at in those days. I didn't much care for her politics, but she was some kind of looker. Jack Lemmon was a goddamn son of a bitch. I never could get along with him. If you want the God's honest truth, I've never really understood any of the movies I've been in. "China Syndrome," now, that came out back in '79, right before I was diagnosed with the diabeetus. I still don't know what that movie was about.

Yessir. Keeps me regular.

That Karl Malone was a mountain of a man. I've been around all kinds of ranch hands and lumberjacks all my life, but I've never seen a guy that impressive. We were at the China Buffet one night, and I said to him "What's your secret, Karl? You look like a million goddamn bucks." And he said to me "Wilford, I have to put a syringe in my ass every night. I'm scared to death someone's going to find out. I'm in hell." I'll never forget that. Guy made me pick up the check, too. Son of a bitch makes $10 million a year and he made me pick up the check. Unbelievable.

This reminds me of the time I fought to keep those damn New Mexico bureaucrats from passing this proposal to outlaw cockfighting. I came up with all this hobbledyhoo about it being part of our tradition, but the truth is that I was making a mint fighting cocks down in Las Cruces every other weekend. It was damn near the best paying gig I ever got, outside of those diabeetus commercials. So, anyway, I fought those damn bureaucrats tooth and nail. And in the end, they never did get the votes they needed. So that just goes to show you that you really can do anything that you set your mind to. You just have to be motivated, is all.