Toasts (1972)

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TOASTS--

IMAGES OF A VICTIM Society
(TRo &s/P (\orr (TU Ti on/■JAtQ

fcXo dur House, N .T

1972

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TOASTS: IMAGES OF A VICTIM SOCIETY

Seymour Fiddle

February 1972
[New York : Exodus House]

fable of Contents

Page

Introduction

(1) Phenomenon Vs. Noumenon 1

(2) Hyperbolic Conduct and Speech &

(3) The Celebration of Sensuality and
Materialism 11

(4) The Male Addict's Helplessness 13

(5) The Pressure Cooker Life 14

(6) Dov/nward Mobility and Unfrcedom 15
Textual Analyses 13

Dariella Du Fontaine 20

A Victim of Circumstances 24

The Tropics 26

A Comment 27

Appendix 29

Toasts 29

King Heroin 29

Dariella Du Fontaine 31

Honky Tonk Bud . _ _r 37

Lonr.shoe Sam and Cocaine Smitty|^>M^^ (Wei 43

The Tropics 47

J ir.iba The Junkie 49

The Fall 51

Untitled y 1 56

Coco Joe's 57

Good Doin* Wheeler ⁰ 60

The Pimp and His Broad 65

Untitled # 2 Q DtfriV ⁴ 66

Dear John 69

Footnotes And Addenda

Toasts were ballads, genorally composed by
and transmitted by others from prison to prison
to generation. Not all toasts, perhaps not a m
written by and for addicts, but the slender out
able to collect, expressly concerning drug user
iences, revealed the profound sense of alienati
narcotic addict from legitimate society.

These toasts were composed to entertain fc
Their language reflected the fact that most of
(recited) them were black. Only a small propoj
I have met might be classed as readers» able t<
toasts in their entirety. They were generally
much time in prison during their career on druj
men personally had transcribed toasts onto pap<
toasts were part of an oral folk tradition, pa:
life within the addict culture. Indeed I was .
the place of these toasts in the life of the a
to local hospitals. I would be asked by patie.
patients would sit around a tape recorder list
of a set of toasts, at least one of,them would
of his own. I had the feeling I was an anthro
folklore.

Their oral quality meant that these toast

to fallibility of recall. I have been able tc
versions of the same toasts; sometimes only ti

Introduction

4 '

Toasts were ballads, generally composed by anonymous prisoners,,
and transmitted by others from prison to prison, and generation
to generation. Mot all toasts, perhaps not a majority, v/erc
written by and for addicts, but the slender output I have been
able to collect, expressly concerning drug users and drug exper-
iences, revealed the profound sense of alienation of the male
narcotic addict from legitimate society.

These toasts were composed to entertain fellow prisoners.
Their language reflected the fact that most of those - who read
(recited) them we re black. Only a small proportion of the addicts
I have met might be classed as readers, able to recite several
toasts in their entirety. They were generally man who had served
much time in prison during their career on drugs. Although some
men personally had transcribed toasts onto paper, basically the
toasts were part of an oral folk tradition, part of the social
life within the addict culture. Indeed I was able to verify
the place of these toasts in the life of the addicts during visits
to local hospitals. I would be asked by patients who knew about
patients would sit around a tape recorder listening to a tape
of a set of toasts, at least one of. them would" come up with something
of his own. I had the feeling I was an anthropologist recording
folklore.

Their oral quality meant that these toasts were subject

to fallibility of recall. I have been able to gather several
versions of the same toasts; sometimes only the general tenor or

theme of the differing version was the same as the "ur-toast**
which I took to be the one most often Riven, or at least the version
that seemed to me to be the fullest. I would not be surprised
to learn, however, that better versions of these toasts existed
in some instances.

Toasts were written by men for men. I have been unable to
locate any female-written and delivered toasts, though I have made
inquiries among many knowledgeable women. (The toasts are printed
in toto, in the appendix p.29. )

(1) Phenomenon Vs . Noumenon

Although few if any of the addicted have heard of Kant's
^distinctions between phenomenon and noumenon (appearance
fland reality), all of them would understand from their own every-

' •

fday existence this distinction in social life. Unlike some

rsociologists who believed that the main structural cleavage \vas

> •

. between culture and society, the experience of most addicted
taught them that what mattered most was that there was a seeming
or illusionary set of ideas, practices and relationships, and
an*underlying real set of ideas, practices and relationships.
Or to recur to an older distinction, they would empathize with
| the difference between spurious and genuine culture and society.
| For them it had been a daily fact to contrast the allegations
?of a policeman "writing up" the description of what they allegedly
had done, and what they knew they had done (e.g., the police had
beaten them up and then charged them with assault); they heard
: storekeepers and housewives rail at the "junkies" ("run them out
j Of town") and then covertly buy stolen goods at a slight fraction

j of their market value. They had seen rehabilitation programs

1 ■■

J Claim to be helping the addict stay off drugs and then dis-
covered or believed they had discovered that the so-called ex-
jaddicts had been using drugs. They had seen parents on welfare

jlying to the Department of Social Services¹ workers and the

r .

ftepartment of Social Services¹ workers lying to the clients when
#hey did not exploit them. The list could extend into the etcetera
£ etceteras but tta underlying ideas would be the same. There

was an industry for converting reality into appearance in order
to keep the facade of society looking stable and respectable
and they, the addicted, were part of the process that secretly
kept the society going. To argue with them that this was a
selective way of looking at the world would have only been to
tell them they were reasoning from their own experience.

Now this picture of the world appeared, understandably,
in the toasts written or composed in prison. The prison had been
for prisoners, traditionally, the very model of the importance
of not being earnest and of the ineluctability and profitability
of the gap between "front" and "back". But since they had become
the victims of the arrangement, understandably, they seized upon
the gap to mock the establishment or themselves or both. In
most of the toasts, indeed, the brief journey tended to move from
the bright promise of the potential and/or the young to the glum
antinomy of reality. Thus the ballad gave a historical dimension
to the Kantian dualism.

In these toasts the theme of appearance versus reality
ironically was not to be found on the surface; indeed, it might
be denied by the toast maker himself. The basic contrast was
between the appearance of nonchalance, gaiety and seriocomic
banter and hyperbole on the one hand built into the toast style
and content, and the underlying suffering which denies by its
appearance. Psychologically, one might surmise, the toasts are
a cultural reflection of a current, social characterological
problem: the war between the real self and the pseudo-self,
and the use of wit, exaggeration, mockery and so on as a way of

preventing the 'gap from getting out of hand, emotionally and
intellectually. From this psychological viewpoint, the idealized
image, as Karen Horney wisely called the picture of the pseudo-
self, was steadily eroded in the toasts by the forces of Fortune,
the Reality of circumstances. The system which generated these
circumstances might be spurious, but the effects upon the addicted
were real. The addict-hustler was out-hustled by the Supreme
Hustler, the Law and its minions, and beyond the Society itself
lying under the facade of legitimacy. Once more using Horney¹s
language, he discovered that in trying to live up to the phenomenon
of his borrowed idealized self he became, sooner or later, a_Nbeaten man, the unlovable self which was his pessimistic view of
his noumenon.

In the world of the heroin addict there was one reality which
could not be questioned —the overwhelming power of heroin.
Compared to this power all else was weakness. The fact of this
power,a general reality, gave a sense of order to this ever imminent
chaos. The popular toast King Heroin (p.29) stressed this
centrality and the underlying reality which did not need to disguise
its power from its disciples.

"Behold, my friend, for I am King Heroin,
Known to all as the destroyer of man.
Where I first came from, nobody knows,
But I came from the land where the poppyseeds
grow.

My little white grains are nothing but waste,
I'm soft and I'm deadly and I'm bitter to taste."

Here the lethal power of heroin was contrasted with its
size, its specious softness and its seemingly uneconomical

nature. Underscoring its bitter taste was a sly reminder of the
contrasting ecstasy that awaited the first user* The taste was
the criterion the junkie might use to be sure the bag he had
bought was really heroin, but the result of injection was hardly
going to be bitter if he received good merchandise.

The power of heroin showed itself in its democratic character,

more exactly its leveling character, reducing an entire social

hierarchy to the position of subordination to itself as a

higher principle.

"I can make a school boy lay down his books,

flake a world famous beauty neglect her looks,

Hake a good man forsake his wife

And send him to prison for the rest of,his life.

In cellophane bags I found my way

To great men in office, to children at play,

To the richest of state, to the lowest of slums,

To the highest exalted, to the Bowery bums."

As the omnipotence of heroin was repeated, however, an attentive
listener might start to realize how much identification had gone
on between the toast maker, the heroin addict in jail and his
divinely powered drug. Kinr Heroin was the collective myth, or
collective idealised image of the addicted, (The ballad also
contrasted the appearance of the boasted "Longshoe Man" - Heroin
("Oh! am I not a great god to behold!") with the reality of the
addict's puniness.

The dichotomy took on biting and complicated overtones in

Honky Tonk Bud (p.37)» The opening stanzas contrast the cool

elegance of Honky Tonk with the stranger. Honky Tonk with his

"... white on white

And a coco front that was real down.

A candy striped tie,

That came down to his fly..."

Every inch the appearance of a successful hustler, he stood
out against the stranger with a beat up hat, with

¹¹ ...a fucked up vine
And needed a shine
And shivered as if he was cold.¹¹

Mr. Failure came a begging to Mr. Success - or was it so?

Of Honky Tonk the toast tells us,

"He. wasn't bragging,
Cause his habit was lagging".

That is, he was developing symptoms because he had not satisfied

his habit. So his appearance also contrasted with his real

situation. Moreover, as the poem proceeded, we saw how really

unsuccessful he was, how his reality was that of a petty hustler

beneath the white on white facade. The stranger who looked

depauperate turned out to be an agent of the Federal Bureau of

Narcotic$ an ugly reality for Honky Tonk. But the supreme

irony occurred when the court, aided by the police investigation

report, took Honky Tonk's appearance as his reality and

treated him as a big catch, from one of the upper layers of the

underworld. Honky Tonk saw all this as a result of the Federal

Government's need to make it seem as though they were coping

with the big shots and managing the problem. Hence the idea in

exaggerating his appearance was to give an appearance to the

public. Facades with facades - and without benefit of Edith

Sitwell¹s poetry!

In Jimba the Junkie (p. 49) Jimba was asked to "run his
story" in exchange for enough money to buy a fix. He contrasted
his appearance with an earlier state when he had his money.

Both his reality and his appearance had been prosperous compared
tfith his present dismal reality. The toast, however, describing
him

("...sitting in the old greasy spoon one dark and
rainy day
Sipping pink champagne,")

also putting on a front, giving the feeling he believed that
Jimba's alleged past prosperity was like his, tinselled and
verbal.

The Tropics (p. 47) the toast speaker made it his mission
to bring out his listener's illusions about the life unlicensed:

"They're goin' to ask you down on the border
Have you got your statistics straight?"

At the end of a picaresque string of episodes, the poem
abruptly ends in a mixture of prose and poetry. The moral of
the story was,

"You play a losing game
The dealer takes all."

Reality contrasted with the listener's dreams of treasures.
The adventure that looked like a game favorable to the venturesome
was played with loaded dice and the "dealer" (an obvious but
complex pun)' took all.

The heroine of Dariella Du Fontaine (p. 31) and the hero
and toast speaker Randy Gray both exemplified the capitalization
of appearance. Not only their dress but also their material
demands, their manner, their interpersonal manipulation and their
meteoric successes had the tragicomic touch of built-in failure:

the death of Dariella understandably evoked sentimentality in the
extreme, but that would be the other side of the absence of any
personal commitment between the two role players. In this very
| long ballad, then, appearance was an initial stage, inevitably

| to be replaced by the (underemphasized) reality. [The Fall (p. 5"J)»

. -

■ Coco Joe^fs (p. i>7) and Good Doin' Wheeler (p. 60) repeated this

< motif.] The cool appearance showed itself in the ability to

move effortlessly amid the luxury of the elite restaurant

I which seemed to symbolise the unreal in reality:

! "A captain named Abel

j Showed us to our table

j And brought us some rare old wine

Refreshing as cocaine
From the cathedrals of Spain
| Old vintage 1879.

; Now we ate hummingbird hearts

f And other rare parts

Mashed potatoes, chicken a la king..."

j Like good hustlers in U.S.A. society, the figures in the toast

| had to make the appearance of easy, smooth, effortless success.

Lonp;shoe Sam and Cocaine Smitty (p. UJ) traveled below
the border into exotic Social Darwinism, Only here the special
theme was the pressure exerted on hustlers by the gap between
their appearance and their reality. Trying to balance the two
producedthe exaggeration and irony that lined this toast.

Longshoe Sam, through whose point of view the tale was

told, at first apparently was full of high praise for Smitty*s

attire; but his underlying feeling of contempt was barely concealed.

"Shoes and suits from Edmund Clapp's
Sporting one of those bad Sanitation caps
Set of gold cuff links
He said it cost a grand
Stamped on the back
Made in Japan."

*.......................I

Meeting Mexicali Rose, Smitty initiated the pick-up and li fo

proved again that he was more appearance than reality. She scorned of th

him and his money and took on Longshoo Sam in an erotic gamble humor

which proved, to her, that he was really her man, the man to onpnt

treat her rough but well. w?»r. t!

Did this mean that Longshoe Sam was for real, by addicts¹ in r»r
standards? He proved his heart by avenging Rosita, but his

description of the funeral which he gave her is pure longshoe price

talk, appearance-inflating-hyperbole. they <

The irony of the toast was clear: both players were unauthen- littl<

tic, neither one believing in the other and perhaps not in himself.
Their partnership was flawed from the beginning.

After

There was also an ambiguity about the pimps¹ real motives , *

; ■ "eorrnu'

for the trip. At the outset they were said to be looking

■•uk! h:

for two whores. But Sam gave the game away:

"Rose, don't look like you be able to go back to

the city hvperl

And pull those kilos of C."

loarnc

This unheralded remark suggested either that sex was to be the

than 1

cover for a drug operation or, more plausibly, that Sam was

; of cur

. pretending to Rose that he was in a position to buy large quantities
of cocaine across the border. The unauthentic man kept trying
to bluff his way to unauthentic success — and the pressure told.

(2) Hyperbolic Conduct and Speech

Not merely did toasts show the exaggeration of the male
tall tale, but they depicted life at the extremes, the very
highs and the very lows. In various respects the addicted

r.uns i
The at
Iocs c
victin

ruits
obscui
his ic

11 fo was being described as an exaggeration of trends and values
of the outside or general culture. The literary effect was
humor no well as good natured appreciation for good luck, and
nmpnthy for suffering and bad luck. The sociological effect
w'ir. that of a documentary on the hopes and realities of life
In extremis.

Coco Joe (p. 57) a tale told by a dying man for the
price of a fix, the exaggerations centered around a woman, as
they did in many of the toasts. Seeing that she ⁿlooked a
little unfed" he offered her a meal.

"It was exactly 2 hours and 5 courses
Before she called it a day."

After coming out of prison, having been caught in crime

^committed to give her furs and luxuries, he discovered that she

md his crime partner had taken over where he had left them,

♦equally. This did not especially disturb him, (though he here

hvporbolically described her sexual prowess). But when he

learned that his eight suits were gone, that was far more important

thnn the fact that he had caught the two of them during the act

of cunnilinugus. She knew that, he knew that. Both reached for

runs and both fired, she dying and, soon, he would be dead, too.

The absence of reaction to sexual betrayal and violence at the

Iocs of his "vines" hyperbolized the necessary contempt for the

victimising woman. The unreality of anyone keeping his eight

suits for the ten years he spent in the penitentiary should not

obscure the other point: that his clothing represented him,

his idealized image, as a civilian hustler, after ten years of

wearing prison clothes* The hyperbole showed the desire to
begin again as though nothing of importance had taken place while
he had been away. Jane's sexual life was not as important
or relevant as his sartorial armor.

The ironic unnamed "monkey on his back" toast (p.56)

with its surprise ending hyperbolically celebrated the power of

the ".habit".

"Now when I was born
Already torn

Completely out of my mind
I played my best role
In my mother's hole
Smokin' pot and drinkin¹' wine."

Each paragraph detailed his "graduation" from morphine to

opium, cocaine and heroin. The exaggeration focused on the

age factor — morphine habit at six, opium at ten and sometime

after that for the other drugs.

This pharmacological precocity, I would suggest, condensed
the hurry-up nature of addiction, the rush of time that comes
to awareness after a decade or two of drug involvement. Ten
years down the drain, and all because of the Monkey Backache.

These toasts contained much sumptuary h3^perbole, as was
noted parenthetically in illustrating the theme of phenomenon
versus noumenon. The opening of Good Doin' Wheeler told us
where matters lay with our hero in this report:

"There was good doin¹ Wheeler
The big dope dealer,
From up on Boston Road.
The ties that he wore
Didn't come from no store
Queen Elisabeth knitted them by hand.
And his famous sky
Was thought so fly
The City of Boston had it banned."

Arid from his ties and hat, the ballad went on to his equally
remarkable shoes and socks. Beati possidentes, the remainder of
the ballad narrated the unheroic efforts of our hero to maintain
those imposing standards of living — but failing.

The hyperbolic in the toasts expressed the social force of
the idealized images the addicts carried about in their heads
ordinarily. The successful pusher did scorn the bums and creeps,
even or especially when he occasionally did give them a freebie,
and it was clothing which spelled the social difference. The
toast hyperbole was a dramatic and playful underliner of an
essential subcultural reality.

(3) The Celebration of Sensuality and Materialism

Taken as a whole, the toasts celebrated or at least under-
scored sensory reactions to things, people, events and symbols.
Their sensuality and materialism give a reader or listener the
feeling that their composers, forced behind prison bars and
detoxified, were overwhelmed by the thirst to experience the widest
and wildest spectrum of the human condition. Each toast took
a different segment of that spectrum and explored it and its
variations, revealing what narcotics concealed or distorted.

Jimba the Junkie (p. 49), the story of one man's fall from
fortune, started off as no.ted earlier with the toast maker
sitting in

"...the old greasy spoon one dark and rainy day
Sipping pink champagne"

Given money to cure his sickness, and, in a most remarkable manner,

Jimba was able to tell his tale of woe while nodding. This was

not only humorous, but organismic.

He then described the wench who brought him to his parlous
state:

"♦♦.this fine broad fresh out of school.
She was young and fancy and nothing but a fool.
She had fine smooth skin, and long silky hair
The legs she had wore a beautiful pair,
Her broast was full, and you should havo soon hor
thighs..."

A hustler would mutter, "No need to worry about frost bite,
with her around..."

Unable to resist her wishes, he had to support her drug
habit until she left him for his crime partner. His reaction
to losing her was total:

"So I shot up a quarter of stuff an¹ layed down
on the bed

Hoping they would find me in the morning stone cold dead.
This attempt at retreating from his extreme disappointment failing
he did in his friend instead and provoked the girl's own suicide.
The sequence of instant total involvement, outward aggression-
aggression and then self aggression suggested the sexual drive
controlled, or at least reduced, by narcotics.

The Pimp and His Broad (p. 65) projects the feelings of a
man with a big habit and a reluctant whore. Anger at her down-
hearted reaction to his taking her money for heroin provoked
him to a visceral reaction. To her accusation of his sexual
inadequacy

("If we get in bed and fuck, you say my dick ain't hard"),
he says that it is not a good excuse that the police are about.

("Well, bitch, get me some money

I don't care if you gotta fuck the cop
You say the cop's on one corner,
And the G-men on the other,

Bitch, I don't care if you gotta trick with your mother.

One would expect these expressions of sensuality and material-

Ism from a pimp* Coco Joe, a typical junkie, having his sex

goddess as we have seen, bought a meal of "2 hours and 5 courses".

She invited herself to his flat and bed. She was a "fine bitch",

"And the way she twisted and turned
Almost made me lose my head."

This, of course, leads to his buying her "fine furs" and the

ultimate ritual fall, losing her to his crime partner. (We

have already noted how he over-responded to his loss of clothing.)

These three toasts, and others, often expressed in the

first person singular, but in a hyperbolic tone, suggested wish

fulfillment as well as the ideological negation of the belief

that addicts were sexless. The experts were saying heroin deadened

sex; the toasts sought to counter that belief.

(4) The Male Addict's Helplessness

The pimp (The Pimp and His Broad) concluded his toast with

the self-mocking words,

"...I'm no pimp,
Pleas6 don't misunderstand me
T'm the mother fucking King of Siam
lam."

The conclusion self-punctured the balloon -of male dominance.
Other toasts are much more explicit about male helplessness and
powerlessness, not only in the war of the sexes but under the
pressure of heroin, society and fate. Most of these narratives
end with the addict being his own best victim the instrument of
his own undoing.

A toast such as Dear John located the toast maker in
prison, bitterly reading a letter from his woman. She gave him
cliches and then a blast expressing her delight at being free
of him but remained out of his control.

^In The Fall (p. 51) male power seemed proven until the male
tried to take advantage of his woman. Then she invoked the power
of the state and had him arrested on a pimping charge. It was
clear that his control over her was contingent on his willingness
to go along with her wishes and authority.

In I've Played Many a Game fate was felt to be at work
making the addict suffer.

In Honky Tonk Bud (p. 37) the power of the state toyed with
the addict.

And in King Heroin (p. 29) heroin was in charge.

(5) The Pressure Cooker Life

If in the toasts the addict experienced himself as
powerless and unable to halt his downward mobility, he also
experienced the life he lived as one of continual pressure.
The combination produced a tone alternatively pessimistic, ironical
or disgusted. The figures in these ballads did not really feel
good about themselves but they did make histrionic efforts to
convince somebody they did.

The first source of pressure implied was the urge to live fast.
The good life was condensed picaresque. It had more moreness
in briefer brevity. In the untitled to^st reproduced on

page 56, as v/e have noted, the speaker says he was

"..•born already torn,
Completely out of my mind
I played my best role
In my mother's hole
Smokin' pot and drinkin' wine."

This gave an exaggerated view of addict precocity as regards

its sense of pointlessness. Toasts describing an interaction

between a man and a woman gave the impression of instant

attachment: sex at first sight or touch.

A second source of pressure was the urge to accuire, the
hustling spirit. The Tropics (p.L7), while ostensibly a morality
tale about the hard life of the hot countries, was actually a
recital of a secuence of illegal maneuvers to get money cul-
minating in an encounter with morphine and the Devil.
Dariella Du Fontaine is not only the story of a lustful female
but also of her hustling skill, her capacity to see and exploit
golden opportunities in bed.

(6) Downward Mobility nnd Unfreedom

The final, and one might say, overall theme of the toasts
was the inevitable failure of the junkie, culminating in one
or another form of unfreedom or death. The immanent message
of the combined themes was: if you play, you gotta pay.
"The immanent dynamic of the system produced a set of odds which
the addict, for all his hustling, for all his skill and hours
of work, could not keep on beating. "You get what your hand calls
for" was a slogan of the street victim which embodied rough

distributive justice. In the end there was an end and the junkie
on the street was not going to be seen, at last film shot,
walking hand in hand with the beautiful damsel into the sunset
in eternal happiness. The laws of the system forbade that.
One had to see that one's final drab appearance was one's
reality. Vic the Victim.

When the toast maker was most vehemently asserting his
independence of society or of particular parts of it, he was
most likely to reveal the extent of his failure and unfreedom.
In one of the probably numerous forms of "Dear John" toasts, two
of which are included in the appendix, the opening (p. 66) under-
scored a social reality:

"Now it's been proven beyond a shadow of doubt
That a chicken shit bitch just won't help you out.
You take a chicken shit bitch from the word say go,
Well her principles are high, but her character is low."

Thus John moved from petty stealing to pimping, the woman
in question being of heroic mien. In her first night as his whore
she had 26 clients, presumably a track record. But in the nature
of the case her earnings were not enough to support them both and
so he supplemented their income by dealing in drugs resulting,
of course, in his arrest. He learned of the fragility of their
relationship soon after arriving in jail, a letter telling him
of her new liaison with a friend of his. He cursed her out,
in absentia, and then later, having apparently been released from
prison, he announced to the listening world that he had graduated.
Ho had given up whores for tender school girls. The foamy cursing,
the righteous indignation and the discovery of new libidinal

ponturcG' did ^#not successfully deny the reality: from his point
of view he had been a failure_f had been locked up and was still
un free to do what he wanted to do: exploit a woman economically.

In most of the toasts, however, there was a constrained
candor: necessity made honest men. In The Fall (p. 51)
the prologue minced no words:

"Nov/ let me tell you just how I fell
And the trick fate played on me."

"Balls" secured his wealth via pimphood and lost it by
the same route. He took the money his whore had earned and gambled
'with it and then with drugs.

"Then started to blow my dough
Faster than one whore can get...
I blowed my shack, my Cadillac
Those rugs are off of the floor.
I sold my ice for half of the price..."

At that point the overworked whore, physically unable to work,
became useless to "Bslls". Attempting to get rid of her and form
a new "stable", he rediscovered the adage of the woman scorned.
With a broken jaw he also received the news of three charges
of pimping. In a warning to himself he took leave of "the jungle":

"Farewell I say to the game, may I still feel the same
When I get through with this

FALL..."

Afraid that he would simply repeat the cycle of success
to failure, "Balls" thereby tacitly admitted the immanent
dynamic and laws of the system into which he had been absorbed.

In this as in other toasts the linkage was established
between 'woman and downward mobility. It was perhaps no accidcnt

that the toast makers thought it terms of Dame Misfortune who doomed;
them, in contrast with the surprisingly more sanguine position taken'
by Niccolo Machiavelli four centuries or some earlier. The
Renaissance commentator on the condottieri and other hustlers
of the day saw Fortune as a woman to be courted and forced, ;

if need be, to do one's mobility work. Seize her in the right
way and at the right time and she would smile. But the burden
of the toasts was:

"She lured me with promises of an unlinked horizon
On her magic bed and I ended up with a cell and
No rugs on it."

The activism of Machiavelli contrasted with the passivity or
the passivity-aggressiveness depicted in the toasts. Like the
little mouse in one of the toasts, the addict could only hope
that by not being noticed by the forces around him, he could
appear cool and enjoy the sanctuary which is the privilege of
the unnoticed and weak.

Textual Analyses
Instead of simply examining themes let us now examine specific
toasts to see how themes come together in a concrete case. For
reasons of space only four of the longer celebratory toasts will
be analysed.

King Heroin, the great soul napper, was perhaps the most
repeated of the addicts¹ toasts. In what was its most complete
form it had two stanzas, each one reciting the powers of the all-
powerful psychochemical. Each concluded with an expression

linking heroin to the widest frame of reference. In the first,
King Heroin said, "I am the ruler of all mankind." In the
recond the listener was told "...the v/hite Horse of Heroin
will ride you to HELLl" In fact there did not seem to be any
pood reason to have two stanzas, without any new developments.
The second merely repeats or elaborates points made in the first.

The inessential duplication in the two stanzas seemed to
indicate first of all the breakdown of appropriateness found
among some of the addicted. Just as an ex-addict will abuse
alcohol, or any other psychochemical, so the toast maker in
this case, focusing on his drug of choice, crammed e. parade of
heroin powers in one part, only to resume again r.nd fill up a
second without understanding the need to give c. sense of develop-
ment to his ballad. An apparent climax, "?.un if you want,
for I'll not chase" was tacked on, but this was restatement
loading to a different metaphor for King Heroin, as a horse,
issuing from nothing in the previous lines of the toast.
Doth stanzas are really warnings.

The repetitiveness of the toast and its artificial dicho-
tomization suggested also the cuality of the addict life in which
everyday cycles of ingestion and sickness follow each other,
each blurring into the other, thanks to the unevenness of the
heroin and the mixture of drugs which makes a man unsure of the
nature of his habit. The pseudo-movement of the toast depicted a
moment in an existence in which time seemed to stand still
until, at some point in the addict's life career, it fell upon

him like an unpredictable avalanche. The "changes" blurred into
each other, fatalistic cycles such as the philosopher Vico saw,
but here on a personal level.

Finally King Heroin was to be understood as a projection of.
the addict's own sense of being a victim, a powerless creature
under massive pressure. The fact that according to the text no
stratum seemed exempt from heroin served as an ideology of
justification to the listeners and readers of this toast. It
also put the addict into the presence of the mighty, part of
a planetary problem. Gould you blame him for doing what he did?

Dariella Du Fontaine

Almost as popular as King Heroin, and evidence that one
really has a good memory if one could reproduce it, was Dariella
Du Fontaine, "fabulous" light skinned, blue eyed, glossy haired
beauty who came out of nowhere to satisfy every one of Randy
Gray's needs and who, at the very point she is about to make that
guarantee a life-long promise, is killed in an airplane crash
by the "hand of fate".

Dariella was not only a toast in which the female was
an unblemished goddess. Her name suggested some blonde New Orleans
belle, the symbol and means of an ordinary hustler's attempt
at social mobility in the big city through various hustling or,
as it was known among the addicts, by hustling the hustlers.

As her name suggested,the blonde young lady is something

of a fountain from which golden coins can emanate, a kind of

rnxy golden Mother Goose. The toast, however, brought out —
unintentionally to be sure «— the superficial relationships she
sustained and the kind of price she exacted for the gold she
brought•

First of all, the .exact relationship between Van and Dariella
was not spelled out. If he were a big money man and money bought
her, then why does she "go for" the small time, relatively depau-
perate Randy Gray who did not cut the same figure? The toast
made clear why he was attracted to her super physical charm
but what she saw'in him, the toast maker had not really let us
know, although later on there is a reference to Van having
told her Randy was a good money maker. This really was not a fact,
is irrelevant, since Van himself had all the money she wanted.

Both Van's words and Dariella¹s subsequent conduct suggested
that the reason lay in her own desire to function as the dominant
member of a freewheeling partnership, herself as the dominant
partner. She was looking for someone less independent, we suspect,
than big money Van.

The use of Du where the particle ought to have been de la
to maintain the Gallic spirit of the name Fontaine shows that the
toast maker was trying to give a prestigious tone to his strange
creation. Her name was"as .synthetic as the gift of gab with .which
^c was said to be able to "Mack" and "con" suckers.

22 f

When she stepped out of the car by herself, she proposed j
they eat and, later, suggested to Randy Gray that he come up to j
her house on Saturday night. Her dominance continued during
the overtures to the sex act; the act itself, as described in j
the toast, gave evidence of her superiority ("she beat me |

for my head.¹¹) f

Yet with all, or perhaps because of, the very conditions <
under which she took Randy, Dariella basically remained anonymou
or at best pseudonymous because her name was a nom de plume.
She came we know not where from, an Anglo-Saxon with a French
name, but she may be French, for all we know, or of French
origin.

We actually know only that she is clever and can easily
separate her use of her body and any gratifications from it ,
from a sense of personal union. She even treated Randy, for
whom she apparently experiences immense physical exaltation as
a contractual partner, teaching him all of her con game tricks.

Again one wondered how significant Randy felt in this join
venture. Admittedly he accepted his position as an apprentice
from the very beginning, as a price of social mobility which he
sensed in her air. Even the trip to Zerkoff^fs is a "first fligh
And she filled his head with new techniques for a trade he only
vaguely imagined. But when he went out to make his first coup, /
it turned out that he had to operate with a homosexual•
Obviously this was not the first time he had done this; only the
scale of his operation, financially speaking, had been transforn

₄. thin lowered him in her eyes until he produced the money.
Ifi offcct she accepted him as an ego alter — a fellow prostitute —
v":/• n he threw the money on the bed. By calling him a ^,freal
thoroughbred", a term applied especially to prostitutes who
Irought in a lot of money, and immediately telling him she did

not want him to buy her anything more and only wanted "the strength
*

/>f his love", she established his significance a "bisexual".
The next episode saw him being approached by Dixie Fair,
"Playboy millionaire", being asked (as though he were a big
'time pimp) if he would introduce him to the girl in the fire
'ongine red dress. He had risen in status, but this kind of
social mobility was vicarious since he had used as much of him-
r.clf as a department store salesgirl in a five and ten store:
a kept man, contingent on her largesse. The acme of this posture
appeared when she packed him off to Mexico to enjoy himself
while she separated Dixie Fair, the white millionaire, from his
noney, and she is separated from Randy Gray, her "true love".
The toast left unasked and unanswered the question — was manliness
in the city dependent upon money?

Is Randy Gray black? Then an added element in her being drawn
_;to him in this toast was the belief in the sexual potency of the
black male, a potency which Randy found necessary to fortify with
cocaine and which she also encouraged with more of the same. That
-he was pleased with his performance under chemicals showed some
of the self reinforcements at work.

Honky Tonk Bud A Victim of Circumstances

Honky Tonk Bud might be read as an addict's sardonic
commentary on the pretensions of a habitual petty offender or
as felt expression of the exploitation of the addict by the
police. The fact that either of these readings was plausible
indicates that a third, objective reading was possible: that it
was also an expression of the tendency found among the addicted
to defend themselves in a contradictory body of evidence.

Consider the evidence that this was a brutal mockery of the
petty addict. At the outset, Bud was standing in the pool hall,
getting sicker and sicker, passively watching the game of pool.
Nattily dressed, waiting for an opportunity to get money or drugs,
his prospective victim appeared and he welcomed him with a grin.
He showed his pettiness in first thinking of "beating" the
beat-up stranger and was only deflected when the latter indicated
he was part of a traveling drar; or con operation. Cowed by the
thought of what would happen if he fooled around with them,
he revealed his petty nature. Instead of keeping "cool" and
letting the stranger try the stuff himself, (as a step to a bigger
sale) he greedily took the first shot himself, did not notice
that the stranger apparently did not shoot up.

In the light of this petty position — the story that
all the street hustling stopped, that he was arrested by the FBI
(for what?), that he is tried in Federal Court and his trial
attracts underworld celebrities — appeared to be a sardonic
joke. His courtroom appeal, emphasizing that he was not a

"wheel", sounded true but the fact that the judge felt he had
to convict him suggested that the reputation which he had made
for himself out of whole cloth finally fulfilled itself; he
is put in prison.

From another point of view, however, this looked like a
serious miscarriage of justice. A petty offender had ended up
in Federal Court, painted in larger terms than life,
and was given a felony even though he didn't have enough
money to get a fix! The entrapment, legal in the Federal court,
thus appeared to be grossly brutal. Moreover, though an addict
would not believe that a stud such as Bud would have the money
and%connections described, the fact was that there were underworld
figures who did and that bribery was believed to have taken place.
The petty offender believed that there were two branches of crim-
inal law, one for him and one for the professional, successful
criminal.

But the third question to be asked was just where did Bud
stand socially? Did he actually have a stable of prostitutes
at one time? Had he carried out "big con¹¹ operations or was
he merely at the trough of a wave that might have, been about to
go up again? We, either conformist observers, John Q citizens,
or the would-be partisans of social justice, cannot really tell.
I would say that this element of impenetrable ambiguity, cloudinq
so many cases in which addicts narrated plausible stories about
themselves, was symbolized by this story.

' to ' '

This cloud of doubt and ambiguity blocked our penetration
of the mask. Bud was called a "hip cat" and "cool", and these
adjectives point to the survival value of the aplomb which keeps
a nan from betraying his real state of being when such information
might be disadvantageous to him.

The Tropics

In form this toast, like the Ancient Mariner_f was a story
told by an older man to a younger one, ostensibly to warn him
against the life of the hustler and its inevitable doom. The
tropics themselves turned out to be a symbol for the scene of
moral transgression and the underworld.

The toast detailed his career, a projection of the habitual
petty offender. .He described how he had doped horses, cheated
in international trade, burglarized the wealthy, smuggled on the
high seas and led a revolt below the border. But the upshot of
his infatuation v/ith the tropics was that he almost died, then
encountered morphine and had some kind of breakdown.

So much for what is the apparent message and outer form.
On another plane, however, the toast v/as also speaking about
life on the margins of civilization. The young man was warned
that what he took to be a life of pleasurable sensuality might
turn into a passage through a pressure cooker.

The toast sketched out the following elements: (1) A border
patrol which checked to see if you understood the risks involved
in leaving civilization; (2) a set of heavily hazardous activities

J ;ioh blighted his existence and seemed to have the tropics as
?!■'.<• port of departure; (3) New Orleans, a symbolical way station;
{.',) the tropics below the United States border where a man
; - >nfrented himself and the aevil in the most primitive way.

In the context of a reading of this toast by one addict to
/-roup of addicts, one could see it as an expression of the double
moaning of the addict culture to the addict: the promise of
ouphoria and sensation generally, and the threat of physical,

I ncntal and moral deterioration. The final phrase, "dealer takes

i . «

[ all," ostensibly referring to the devil and to gambling, has over-

[ tones for the addict linking it to the street and the wholesale

5. dealer in heroin who reaped the profits from the heroin addict.

f A Comment

I Those who listened to toasts in prisons and hospitals and

appreciated them appeared to be mainly men who were, or had been,
involved in the criminal addict culture. In my experience very
few of the younger addicts, or professional men turned addicts,
or, more generally, the working addict^ appeared to know them or
| know about them and, should they chance upon a. recital, seemed
! more irritated than interested. (As a matter of fact it is my
j impression that very few of the professional people who "worked
^! with" the addicts had any acquaintance with toasts.)
| Generally speaking, because this oral literature survives,

| the prisons had not done their v/ork of rehabilitation effectively.

Only very recently had it been thought that a prison ought to
be reshaped into a therapeutic community. Hence addicts had
stayed off drugs while in prison but spiritually, at least,
have preserved and consolidated their ties to the addict culture
in many cases. Thus the reciting of and listening to toasts is
only one of the ways of remaining oriented to the underworld.
Indeed, in my experience those men who gave me toasts in a jail
were also involved in some kind of illegal or non-legal activity,
such as swa/rgin.p; (illegal commerce) and bootlegging.

These same men also participated in other symbolic pro-addict
actions such as talking about drugs, stints and connections.
The result is a hardening attitude towards legitimate authority.
It is much too early to expect radical changes in the prison culture

because of the recent changes due to the Rockefeller drug addiction
*

program. It will be interesting to see if new toasts emerge
in the New York State treatment centers. If they did it would be
a sign of the persistence of the addict culture and the failure
of the program.

Reviewing the toasts after Attica, September 1971, this comment
appeared unintentionally ironic.

Appendix

King Heroin
I

Behold, my friend, for I am King Heroin,

Known to all as the destroyer of man.

Where I first came from, nobody knows,

But I come from the land where the poppyseeds grow..

My little white grains are nothing but waste.

I'm soft and I^fm deadly and I^fm bitter to taste.

I came to this country without a passport,

And ever since then I've been hunted and sought

By custom agents, FBI and plain clothes dicks,

But mostly by addicts in need of a fix.

I'm seldom pure and often diluted.

But once in your blood I'll make it polluted.

For I'll capture your will and destroy your mind,

And make you commit many a brutal crime.

I can make a school boy lay down his books,

Make a world famous beauty neglect her looks,

Make a good man forsake his wife

And send him to prison for the rest of his life.

In cellophane bags I found my way

To great men in office, to children at play,

To the richest of state, to the lowest of slums,

To the highest exalted, to the Bowery bums.

Be you Irish, Italian, Negro or Mex

I'll make you all forget about sex.

For I've cheated the wise, destroyed the weak,

Misused the fool and made a strong man meek.

I've taken the gold from the rich, and made them all poor.

Take a foolish young maiden and make her a whore.

Some will sell, others will buy

For the state of sensation which is called a high.

But regardless of possession or use,

When I get you up tight, I give you abuse.

I'll take all your money then poison your brain,

With a full course of torment, first pleasure, then pain.

Defy the sharp needle and I'll make you sick

With agony and anguish, but won't let you kick.

Oh! am I not a great god to beholdl

More precious tnan diamonds, more treasured than gold,
More potent than whiskey, stronger than wine,
For I am the ruler of all mankind.

So, may I now tell you more of the powers I possess,

My deeds in the East my crimes in the West*

In China I stopped an army, financed Iran

Honored in Turkey and respected in Japan.

Whole races of people I helped to enslave,

Taking their honor, then digging their graves.

I can make an addict go out and steal,

Make a hungry man/ miss a meal.

To some salvation, others a must

I^fll make their souls grow heavy with rust.

Some think I^fm a joy, an adventure, a thriller,

I'll put a gun in your hands and make you a killer.

I can make a man sell his country and flag,

Make a girl sell herself for a five dollar bag.

Some will make profits in fives and tens,

I¹11 make a man in trouble rat on his friends.

And for the reckless few who use me most,

I^fll kill you all with a quick overdose.

So now you lie iii a county jail,

And I cannot enter by visit or mail.

You rise in the morning, all humble and weak,

Your tongue so swollen, you can hardly speak.

You curse my name, defy me in speech

But you^fd gladly pick me up if I were in reach.

And all through sentence, resolved to your fate

Worry not my addict, I¹11 be at the gate.

Run if you want, for I'll not chase,

As sure as I'm heroin, you'll come for your taste.

So now, you're free and you heard my advice.

Behold! you're hooked without any help from Christ.

Once again I have you in my vise, you heard my warning,

But you didn't take heed.

So put your foot in the stirup and mount my steed.

Sit tight in the saddle and ride him well

For the White Horse of Heroin will ride you to HELL!

Dariella Du Fontaine
The Uses of a Fine Broad

I was standing on the corner around Dewey Square

I had made arrangements to cop some reefers there

1 was high

Pretty fly

Pinnin' the whores

When my man

Big money Van

Pulled up in his Olds.

Nov/ Van got out

And looked about

Then to me he began to speak,

When from the other side

With a sexy stride

I dug this cold blooded freak.

She wore a green chemise dress,

One of the very best,

Iter hair was glossy and long

Eyes a light blue

Skin a light brown hue *

She knew she was looking real gone.

Now she was pretty and trim j

And believe me, Jim,

That bitch was really fine.

As I spoke with Van
And shook his han'

I asked him if this bitch was his honey.

With a sigh

¹ No,¹ was his reply

'Anyone who is slick

And wants some money

Nov/ this girl is down

She knows her way rounf

Her name is Dariella Du Fontaine.'

I seen this girl work

She's slick and no jerk

She's cool, she uses her head

She's a boss mack

From way back

And definitely can make some bread.

Now Van wore a Panama straw

A Corona 50 in his jaw

A pair of boss Italian silk loafers

That came all the way from Greece made in one piece

Nov; I, too, v/as dressed

In some of the best

But I couldn't compare with Van.

Oh! my taste is as good as his

But the truth of it is

Van's a big money man.

•Say, fellas,¹ said D,

'I'm as starved as can be

Let us get something to eat*¹

So we all agreed

On some boss old feed

And went to Zerkoff's down the street

Now Zeii<:off v/as for the elite

And this v/as my first flight

We were as clean as the Board of Health

Three players true

With ribbons blue

We painted a picture of wealth,

A captain named Abel

Shov/ed us to our table

And brought us some rare old wine

Refreshing as cocaine

From the cathedrals of Spain

Old vintage 1879.

Now we ate hummingbird hearts

And other rare parts

Mashed potatoes, chicken a la king

Hawaian peas

With fresh salad leaves

And sprinkled with butterfly wings

Some ice v/ent in a bowl of creme de menthe

Strawbary shortcake upside down

We smoked Persian cigarettes

And Van paid our debts

And we conversed on things about town.

Nov/ while we we re dining
And Van kept on winding
Running down my pedigree
And I happened to note
As she entered Van's boat
This broad v/as pinning me
•Say fella'
Said Dariella,

•Now that we've met, I'm glad,
Let's meet again
Say Saturday night at ten
Here's the address to my pad.'

How X got fly -
As I went by

To call on Miss Du Fontaine

I stopped by to see Joe

The dealer in snow

And copped a boss bag of cocaine,

When I got to her pad

Which was really mad

And covered with a real nice scent

It was covered with a ten inch carpet

That came from some market

Deep in the Orient

Nov/ the high fi was Waring,

But I was fearing

I couldn't rap to this queen

She dug I had cold feet

She brought me something to eat

And a bag of that Chicago green

She poured some coke on her thumb

Then painted my gum

Then brought me some wine to sip

You should of heard her purr

When X grabbed hold of her

And painted her gums and hips

Now she didn't beat about the bush

Like the average dish

This is just what that bitch said,

She said, ^fI dig you Randy

As a pair we could be dandy.

Like this cocaine

You go to my head.

I'll comb the land

If you be my man

I'll be your own true bitch

Though you may have to lend (me)

To some other men

With that money I'M! make you rich.'
Now Jack

You know where I'm at

I really bought that.

And I took that broad off to bed,

Now to this queen

I made love supreme

And she beat me for my head.

Now for a month or more
I was schooled by this whore
In games I had never dreamed
I learned real well

And I. can't begin to tell

How this fabulous bitch could scheme

One morning while in bed,

'Randy baby,' she said,

'This is our debut day.¹

So wo got our heads bad

Got fly, left the pad

And went into the streets to play*

Now I made my first rub

At the Coco Club

In a game called the Japanese fan

I snared a fool

And took him off cool

For ten nice solid grand.

But with this faggot I had to shack

A week to cop his crack

He owned a haberdashery.

D didn't dig that show

She said, 'Let the faggot go!'

But when I didn't, she got mad at me

But she soon got at ease

When she dug ten g's

When 1 poured them right on the bed.

'Randy baby,' she chimed,

'I'm glad we combined

Van said you were a real thoroughbred.'

But the truth of the thing

That v/as my only sting.

I made a light score every now and then

But this slick chick

Knew every trick

With her the long money rolled in

We lived high, we stayed high,

Things were never a bore,

W-3 were both real hearty

Life was one big party

As for money we could alv/ays make more.

One night about one

While out having fun

At a club called the Isle of Joy

I met Dixie Fair,

Playboy millionaire

And international playboy.

'Hey look a here,'

Said Dixie Fair,

'Who's that broad in the fire engine red dress?

You could make a light fee

Just cut her into me,^f

I did this and Dariella did the rest.

That night v/hile in bed,

'Randy baby,' she said,

^fI think I could take all of Dixie's dough

But you'll have to lay for me
Like a player patiently
Down in old sunny Mexico

•Cause I don't want you around

V/hilo I'm setting up this clown

And getting him snared in my den.

And when I'm through

T'll come down to you

And we'll never have to hustle again.'

Well I took my clothes off the hook

And got out my bank book

And made love to Dariella the rest of the day
About 8 that night
I took off on my flight
In a luxurious TWA.

llov; my wait wasn't bad

I copped a boss pad

There were plenty of fabulous whores

I cut into Carmelia Vista

Who had a real big keester,

And was cousin to the Mexicali Rose.

Though the climate was hot

There was plenty of pot

And the tequila was dynamite.

I lay in my hassock
VShich Carmelia would rock

And sing to me love songs at night

Then one day

The postman came my way

With a New York Telegram.

'Randy, daddy,' it stated,

^II stood in the box and waited
And hit an Old Goldie grand slam.
I'm on flight 59

Pan American line

Jet Comet number 3*

I'll arrive at Buenos Aires at 4

Can't say anymore

Your wonderin' D.¹

Well Carmelia bkthed me in milk

And put on some tough silk

And downed some chilled Mexican wine,

I bought a New York News

Which stopped me in my shoes

When I dug the bold headline,

* Dixie Fair,

Playboy millionaire

Has committed suicide.

He left all his gain

To Miss Du Fontaine

Who was slated to be his bride.¹

I got to the airport there in time

To hear, ' All persons waiting for Jet Comet number

Needn't wait,

For the hands of fate

Just crashed it in the hills of Chile.

There was a young lady alive
About 25

Whose skin v/as a light copper hue

Hair glossy blonde and eyes of pretty sky blue,

The survivors say,

¹ Tell Handy Gray

I v/as coming to be his bride,

His own true bitch

That would have made him rich

And she coughed up blood and died.¹

But I^fll pull through

Like all down studs do

And keep on playing the game

Even though I know- there will never be

Another broad for me

Like Dariella Du Fontaine.

Honky Tonk Bud

A real cool stud

Stood digging a game of pool

\\t wasn't bragging,

Cause his habit was lagging

He just stood there real cool,

lie v/as choked up tight,

With a white on white,

And a coco front that was real down*

A candy striped tie,

That came down to his fly,

And a velour with a gold dust crown.

It v/as the 15th frame,

Of a nine ball game,

And Bad stood digging the play.

V/ith a idle shrug,

He suddenly dug,

A stranger coming his way.

He w$s a funny old cat,

v/ith a beat up hat,

That must have been ten years old.

He wore a fucked up vine,

And needed a shine,

And shivered as if he was cold.

Now Bud began to grin,

As the cat slid in,

And said do you know Joe the bop?

Nov/ Joe wasn't around,

His bags was down,

In fact he had just went to cop.

The cat looked drugged,

And acted like a bug,

When- Bud told him that Joe would be late.

He just stood there and shivered,

And his bottom lip quivered

As he said man I^fve got to get straight.

Bud said, you look sick,

Like you need a fix,

Perhaps I can do something for you.

I'm Honky Tonk Bud,

The Hip Cat Stud,

From over on Eighth Avenue

So if you want to cop,

Let's talk shop

Because I know I can help you score,

But you¹11 need a bale,

Because the stuff is wholesale,

The only connection I know.

The cat looked down,

With a half ass frown,

Like he was trying to make up his mind,

I'm Tracy he said,

I've got the bread,

I want the best you can find.

If you cop me a bag,

And the stuff ain't no drag,

I'll let you cop some more,

Cause I need a load,

To take on the road,

I'm a traveling booster you know.

Bud was shook,

Gave the stud another look,

He had figured to make a sting -

He had underrated,

So he debated,

I got to get the cat the real thing.

Bua said, I got a short time lease,

On a real good piece,

And you can hold on to your ends.

First you try,

Then you buy,

And if you don't we can still be friends.

You wait next door,

While I go and score,

Because I won't be long,

Bud was back quick

You can see he was sick,

So they went to Bud's pad to turn on.

Bud laid out two hypes,

And unwrapped two spikes,

And they both rolled up their sleeves.

And from a cellophane pack,

He poured out some smack,

And told the cat to take it with ease,

Because just a little bit,

Of this real boss shit,

Will knock any old timer to his knees.

Now the stuff got hot,

Bud drew up a shot,

Made a hit and began to nod,

While the stuff churned,

His cigarette burned,

And the blood caked up real hard.

As the cat untied,

Bud just sighed,

And said,

Like man I'm high.

But the cat made a funny wheel,

And showed Bud a shield,

And said, like man I'm the F.B.I.

Next day the numbers was in,

And they stopped playing skin,

And crime v/as on a sudden decrease.

The whore house was closed,

And there wasn't any scores,

And boosting was on the deep freeze.

The phone didn^ft peep.

The dispatcher was asleep

And no one was making a fuss.

The cops didn't prowl,

The sirens didn't howl,

And for hours there wasn^ft a bust.

Because Honky Tonk Bud,
The Hip Cat Stud,
V/as going to be on trial,
And if he blew
Everybody knew,

Bud was going away for a long while.

The court room was full,

You see Bud had pull,

And all the hustlers were there.

There was those who knew him,

The agent who threw him,

And some that just came to stare.

There was Sweet Drawers Lucy,
Looking real juicy,

Hack the Knife, and Fast Stepping Sue,

There was Mamie the Grinder,

The hot spot finder,

And Stick Pin, and Tough Tiddy Lou.

There was Jo-Jo the Rabbit,

The stud with a habit,

Mush Mouth, and Cabbage Head Nick,

There was big Joe Berra,

The storekeepers terror,

Dura Dum, and 100 Proof Stick.

As all eyes turn right,
In walked Soft Shoe Ike,
Sporting a boss cashmere vine,
A professional killer,
Named Stinking Sam Miller,
Covered him well" from behind.

Nov; the Hip Cat's defense,

Was A.J. Spence,

He was an all time great

He held in his hand,

Bud's ten grands

And also the hip cat's fate.

We can't beat it he said,

As he counted the bread,

That's a fact we might as well face,

Because E. G. Pagent,

The Narcotic Agent,

Has got an air tight case.

V/ith the jury picking done,

I can't get to none.

And the lab technicians won't buy.

The D.A. is scared,

To take the bread

And you know you can't bribe the F.B.I.

But I did other things,

Pulled political strings,

But the word was hands off, no can do.

The Chief Justice has decided,
To let Judge Stern try it,

And he's going to make an example out of you.

As the jury sat,

The D.A. made his attack,

On the sheet on Honky Tonk Bud.

All the hustlers jeered,

As the D.A. smeared,

Bud's name in the mud.

And D.A. Grace

Stated his case,

And the agent took the stand,

He told in detail,

How Bud made the sale,

And was a big dope man.

He wore $200.00 vines,

Had an adding machine mind,

And owned a Cadillac as long as a train,

Always had a whore,

Spent plenty of dough,

And was the master of the confidence game.

The court was filled with suspense,
As the D#A. and the defense,
Became locked in legal combat,
And all the while
Straight through the trial,
Bud just nodded and sat.

The jury was out,
For four hours about,
And the foreman
A plumber named Hodge,
Who was gravely concerned
Announced the Jury's return:
Defendant guilty as charged.

The court room sounded like thunder,

As the Jury wondered,

And Judge S"cern made his report.

A hush fell

It got quiet as hell,

As Bud stood facing the court.

And Judge Stern said,

When Bud's sheet he had read,

Is there anything you would like to say

I would, said Bud,

The hip cat stud,

Before you send me away.

How I'm not crying,

Because the D.A. was lying,

And gave you the wrong notion,

Because I'm no wheel,

In the narcotics field,

And I hope he gets a promotion.

I knew from the jump,

You held all the trump, *

When my lawyer didn^ft object,

But all the same,

It's in the game,

I didn't get to shuffle the deck.

And while some drunken villain

Runs down your children,

And he pays a fine and goes free,

And because I strayed away from the code

You're.going-to give me the full load,

And make an example out of me.

Now the Judge sipped a little water.

And called the court to order,

And the agent gave Bud a nasty look,

Some whore cried,

As the D.A. sighed,

Saying Judge, give him the book.

Now the Judge sprung at Bud,
And said the charge was a dud,
And the agent did nothing but jive,
But it would shock the nation,
If I gave you probation,
And he gave Bud 2% to 5.

FINIS

Longshoe Sam and Cocaine Smitty

V/ay down in Sonora

Where the reefers grow taller

Butterflies fly

And rattlesnakes crawl,

Scorpions crawl

Over dead man's bones

Coyote Joe did thrillin' tones

It was v/ay out here

This hot dry desert waste

Where I first came face to face

With Rosita Espinosas

Alias Mexicali Rose,

Desperate to be queen

Of all the fine holes.

My name is Longshoe Sam
Partner is Cocaine Smitty

On our way to pull two holes out of Mexico City.

We two down pimps from the New York scene

Believe me when I tell you

We've some kind of claim

Sharkskin suit, pinstripe too

Kicks from Stacy Adams, sparkling new

Hat from Dupay, $30 tie,

Pocketful of bread

And Jack was I high!

I must confess

That like me Smitty too is pressed.

Shoes and suits from Edmund Clapp's

Sporting one of those bad Sanitation^caps. ¹ .

Set of gold cuff links,

He said it cost a grand

Stamped on the back

Made in Japan.

Pair of red socks

He said it cost a pound

Nobody couldn't.tell me

Smitty wasn't down!

Something had to give,

That was our pimping motto

As we pushed to Mexico

In our brand new El Dorado.

They stopped us at the border

Had to leave our name,

Longshoe Sam and Smitty Cocaine.

Bust into Chico's
Running out of gas,
Said "Look here Jack,
Fill it up v/ith gas,"
Bust into Pancho
To grab a bite to eat
Dug the waitress
And our knees got weak.

Eyes like brimstone

Cool running well-

Teeth sparkling like diamonds

Near the fires of Hell*

She looked like a native

In those sombrero and jeans

When she said, "What¹11 you have fellows

Tamales or beans?"

Just then Smitty Spills said,

"I'll have the finest dish in the house

And that seems to be you."

She say, "What sucker, I be your hole

And then what?

I'll come to the city and be your hole,

You buy me diamond rings

And funny kind of clothes?

But I don't want that, sucker,

I'm Mexicali Rose."

Just then Smitty Spills reaches in his slide,
And pulled out a couple of pounds \ -

And said, "Baby, let me be your chick?" ^t^y
She said, "What sucker,
You hurt my pride.

Go see the bitch that's selling sombreros outside."
Just then I moved in with a cool rovation.
I said, "Beat it, sucker, you had a brief conversation."
He said, "Sam, you think your spirit is stronger?¹'
I said, "Not only my spirit is stronger,
But my game is longer."

I said, "Smitty, I thought you was a lover,
Roulette or game, peep your hole cared,
You ain't nothing but a lame.
Thought you was a thoroughbred,
My ace one man

But you is a comical mother fucker,
More worse than Charlie Chan."
Just then I got to the counter,
Cross my knees,

Say "Give me two tequilas please."
Pulled out my reefer and lit it right there.
You could tell by the brand
I sure v/as no square.

You could tell the way she passed it, *

"Oh daddy," thirty seconds my great big bomber lasted,
f said, "Rose, you come to the city, and be my hole,
r "won't treat you like a dainty old queen,
I'll treat you real mean.
I'll go to your nut
And then to your gut

Throw you in the street for any common slut."
She cays, "Sam, I think you boss.
I don't think you ever give me the cross.
But before"! say yes,
And before I say no,

Let's go to the game room and see what you know."

We went to poker,-

What didn't seem to be my stick.

It wasn't that my game was weak..

Just that the bitch was too slick.

V/e went to craps,

I was pretty good at that.

It didn't seem that my luck had lasted

Rose hit umpteen passes.

I said, "Baby, shake 'em, baby shake 'em."

I knew she couldn't make 'em.

She had little Joe for a point

Then Rose stepped in and said,

"Winner take all, body and soul,

Even your great big El Dorado in stall."

I picked up the dice, more dead than alive.

Made my point the hard way, five by five.

Wasn't watching my boy Smitty Spill's face for awhile,

But now his face was covered with a madman's smile.

He went to his slide for his colt 38.

He got on the bead,

And Rose said, "What sucker your heart ain't bigger than

a mustard seed"
Rose was right,
Smitty ain't want to fight,

But he pulled the trigger through sheer fright.

The blast hit Rose high upon her head

She hit the floor darn near dead.

The blast hit Smitty, his piece hit the floor

And I dropped him before he reached the door

"Rose, don't look like you be able to go back to the city,

And pull those kilos of C.

But you understand, baby that's the way it had to be."
She said, "Sam, when you get back to the city,
To pull your dozen or so holes

Remember the one that loved you the most was Mexicali Rose.
Boom, Rose and Smitty was dead.
Both got shot in the head.

All that remains of Smitty Cocaine is what was left in a
cigar box.

I took Rose back in the city,

And gave her a boss funeral dressed in mink and ermine star:
Didn't have to spare the cash.
She died before her time

Didn't get a chance to make one thin dime.

She v/as killed by a chickenhearted nigger by the name

of Smitty Cocaine
A jive ass lame
From Satcho Patrick Lane.
Out of my pride and into my glory
Damn it this is the end of my story
All that remains is a tombstone near the dead red,
Rosita Espinosa, alias Mexicali Rose,
Destined to be queen of all the fine holes,
Hop Mr. Rabbit, skip Mr. Bear
Is there a Smitty Cocaine here?

The Tropics

V/ell son, so you're going to the tropics

V/here all you think you have to do

Is sit in the shade

Of a coconut glade

And dollar bills roll into you.

V/ell let me tell you what it did
To another kid

Just before you decide your fate

They're goin' to ask..you down on the border

Have you got your statistics straight?

Mow you don't go down with a short hard bang
You just shuffle along
Till you lighten your load
Of a moral code

And you can't tell right from wrong,

I started out in the world to be honest

Tp do everything on the square

But I found a man can't fool

V/ith the golden rule

With a crowd that won't play fair

next came the case

Of running a crooked race

And it being an also ran

My only hope

V/as to sneak dope

In the horse of another man.

I dealt short weight

In an inner weight gate

By running a freighter there

And I cracked the crib of a rich estate

And didn't even turn a hair

I next took charge

Of a smuggling barge

Off the coast of old Ukraine.

But she went to hell

In a crystal bell

One night in a hurricane.

From a sunbaked cliff

I flagged a ship,

In a salt soaked pair of jeans

I worked my way

Because I couldn't pay

The freighter bnck to Now Orlonnn.

Boy, these Tropics, it gets into your blood

Just like a habit

It gets into your,system.

Just like rum

You get away,

And you swear you'll stay

But she calls

And back you come.

It was six short months
Before I was back on the job
Fighting a war
In Ecuador

With a barefoot native mob.

They had made me their general

And I was leading a grand revolt

But my only friend

From start to end

Was a punishing Army coat

It was then that she found me

Alone in the bushes

And damn near dead when she found me

Now in her eyes shone

An Empress gone

For hers was the blood of kings
And her voice inspired of noble things,
Do you see these punctures upon my arm?
Perhaps you don't know what they mean.
But they were made by the famous decks
Of my trained nurse, Mrs. Morphine.

Then the Devil sent his right hand man

Might have known he would

He took her life

With a long thin knife

Because she was so straight and good.

Within me died

Hope, honor and pride

It left but a primitive world

To hunt him down on a broad red trail

To kill, to kill, to kill

Ovar sucker wood swamps

And sucker wood swamps,

Caught up with the Devil

While pitching camp

(Well any way he washes the Devil and

The moral of the story is

You play a losing game

The dealer takes all.)

Jimba the Junkie

I was sitting in the old greasy spoon one dark and rainy day
2Inning pink champagne,

;hen in walked Jimba the junkie all wet from the rain,
•o strolled over to the table, where me and my girl sat
;e had on a dirty raglan and a oeat up hat,
•is pants were torn, his shoes were beat,

\nd to tell you-the truth, it took all of his strength to pull up
a seat.

lis eyes were red, and he could hardly see,
So I told him he could have a meal on me,
ie said I do need a meal that's true
?ut ibnny, I prefer having a dollar or two,

I gave him a pound and told him not to pay me back,
:;;uee I knew he was sick and needed some smack,
I said Jim you look like yo\:'re doing some kind of bad,

the way tell me about the thousands, you once say you had,
,\ih his mouth still greasy,
And nodding up and down,

Ho started to tell me, as his face began to frown,

said, Sonny since you're my friend,
I'll run my story down, from the beginning.to end.
Three' years ago I was a sc.uare from down the way,
I worked hard on a coal truck to earn my pay.
Then one night I came to this very same bar to have a drink
And met this stud called Joe the chink.
Nov: Joe, he went for me in a hell of a way
He sat down and taught me for a year and a day
He taught me how to hustle and how to play
And all about women too,

Now don't tell anyone, but Joe and I would hustle four and five
bills a day.

To tell you the truth we were two of the playingest hustlers in the
U.S.A.,

Then a year ago to this day, I met this fine broad fresh out of school.

'/ne was young and fancy and nothing but a fool,

r.he had fine smooth skin, and long silky hair

The legs she- had were a beautiful pair,

Her breast was full, and you should have seen her thighs,

Ghe aad a turned up nose and a pair of those fuckish eyes,

Her name was Yvette and it fitted her to a T,

In her very fast conversation, she said she went for me

Slow I pull in two hours - or three,

Talking that same shit that Joe had taught me

She looked like an angel, her very wish was my command

■md to see this girl suffer was more than I could stand

hut, Yvette liked to shoot drugs and have a good time,

And within six months her habit was longer than mine.

How I suoported her habit and gave her my doufth,

Then I found out she was running away with Joe.

Now I layed dovm and cried for an hour and a half,

I tried to read some joke books, but sonny, I still couldn't laur;

So I shot up a ouarter of stuff an' layed dovm on the bed

Hoping they would find me in the morning stone cold dead.

But you know I pulled through

Otherwise I wouldn't be here talking with you

And as you know, Joe is dead,

I sneaked up behind him, and shot him in the head.

The lav; couldn't touch me they had no proof,

And like when Yvette got the wire, she jumped off the roof.

Ever since, I've been doing real bad,

That's what happened to the thousands I once had

V/ith his eyes still red, and his face wrinkled with pain,

Jimba turned his collar up and slowly made it back into the rain,

The Fall

How some of you guys will be surprised
At what I am about to say.

And who's this lame who says he knows the game

And where did he learn to play?

Mow let me tell you just how I fell

And the trick fate played on me

So gather around, I'll run it down

I'll tell my history.......

It was Saturday night and the jungle was bright
And the gamers were stalking their prey;
Where the code was crime on the neon sign
Where the crime begun, and daughters fought sons,
And your father stayed in jail.

And your mother layed awake, with her heart damn near broke

Because she couldn't up his bail.

Where the blood was shed for the sake of bread,

And drunks beat for their poke

By the sleight of hand of the Murphy nan

And the words the con man spoke.

Where the dope-fiends prowl-with a tiger's growl

In search of the lethal blow.

Where the jungle tree said, the strong must feed off any pre
I was a brand new beast and sat at the feast,
Before I was a man.

As the daily display and the midnight ray,
Lit up like a Christmas toy,

I was young and prancy and reefer was my fanny,
I was known as an adequate male.

But I curse the day I made the play for that female Jezebel.
She was a light skinned moll, like a Chinese doll.
Walking in the ways of sin,
Up and dovm she trod with a wink and a nod,
To the nearest whore house den.

How it wasn't by.chance that she caught my glance,

For I had planned it that way

I smiled with glee and said holy, gee,

It is time for Balls to gain.

Her eyes shone bright on the neon light

And from them a tear drop fell,

I asked her why, she started to cry,

And she told me this bitter tale,

■All about some guy who blackened her eye

And takes all the bread she makes,

Lets her lay in jail, won't go her bail

Then dares her to call it cuits,

I said bitch, dry your tears and have no fears

For your kind lover is finally here.

I am staking my claim in a piece of the game

And I am known to never fail.

Then she looked at me like a slave set free,

And said, V/ell, dig, I am your girl.

Her man didn't stare as I made off with her,

We traveled all over the world

She caught on fast as the months wore past,

She played it to the bitter end.

A better hole I^fve got to meet

And they say a dog is man's best friend...

She was a three way wench, played jasper in the pinch,

She'd take them around the horn,

There was no jane or john, the broad couldn't con

A trick was never born

She was a good shot broad, a pro at fraud,
And played the drag like a vet...
She'd stuff like an ace and never lost a case...
She put many a marker in debt,

She ranked v/ith the best from the east to the west
When her boosting hand came down*
She stole knots out of knees, Fido's fleas
She thiefed in many a town,

Now I've heard ho 's cry of the vice being high,

And that the law's on their trail

How rain and sleet asshole deep

And tricks can go to hell

In some greasy spoon or juke box saloon,

You'll find them killing time

Sucking up beers and crying hard luck tears,

The pimps ain't getting a dime;

Turning dollar tricks to get a fix,

The monkey doing the pimping

Just ruining the name of a hell of a game

Cause the pimps are all doing the pimping...

Ray fielding, yarding, hiding, sucking on party dicks

Nodding so tough from fucking v/ith stuff

They blow all the righteous tricks...

You can cop her clit for the cheapest bit

Set her ass on fire...

You can dig in her cunt for a solid month
She is the cheapest ho' you can hire...
Arid when the rent is past due for a month or two
And the landlord is screaming mad

She'll slide between your sheets with no night receipts

Saying the night v/as bad

But for sure come Monday morning

You can't find your whore

Cause some new cop done caught her...

And you pawn all your shit to make up a fix...

And the bitch ain't made a quarter...

But that is the price we all must pay

'•/lien we deal in vice...

And we all know it takes a steady grind

But a whore's got to get up and go

And be a real good ho^T,

To beat this triple bitch of mine.
Like a sex machine she'll walk between
Raindrops, sleet, and hail.

Standing on hot bricks she'll lure them tricks,
Come typhoon blizzard or gale.

She'd trick with Frenchmen, torpedoes, and henchmen

To her they are all the same.

She'd trick with Jews, Apaches or Sioux,

And a breed I can not name...

She tricks with Greeks, Arabians*, and freaks,

Why she tricked in the house of God,

No son of a gun, would his ho' shun

Who could pay or up his rod.

Now the sun didn't set when her ass wasn't wet.
And my pockets heavy with gold.
And many a trick with a weekend dick
Got beat for his entire roll...

She had a good round eye and Jim this ain't no jive

Cause many a nut got busted in her butt

Cause the rag didn't mean a thing

VJith a lick and a lap from her mellow cap

The tricks would fight for a do

Cause the longest bread was made with her head

Boy could this ho' chew...

She'd drop her mug on many a lug

^oo numerous to call their names

And many a sap fell into the trap

Lured by her game...

Now I layed and played, off the poke she made,

From the coast to ole Broadway,

My game was string, my money long,

Cause I made this business pay,

But trouble began and I ranked my hand

And gave up my smoke to fuck with dope,

Then started to blow my dough

Faster than one whore can get...

I blowed my shack, my Cadillac

Those rugs are off of the floor.

I sold my ice for half of the price

Shot up all my dough,

I swindled from ma, stole from pa

Sold my poodle pup.

Sold my threads, sold the bed, and shot the t.v. up

Nov/ my woman cried, damn near died

When I made off with her mink,

But I layed in my roll, stole and sold

Everything but the kitchen sink,

Now dovm I.fell to the depths of hell

I put myself in a cross

My habit was tall, my money small

Everything I had was lost.....

f

But a heavier blow, was when I took sick, and couldn't grin
~ The monkey spoke, it v/as no joke,

CJkoAel- I knew this was the end. •
•Wsj^v*' My bitch had piles, inflamed bow;els,
And for a month she couldn't piss.
I v/as shot to hell when her oval fell,
Cause things worked bad for me
And when lockjaw set in, believe me friend,
The monkey had his toll.
Her head was dead, her asshole red,
Lips on her cunt were cold.

But still I wanted.to be fair and on the square.
For I didn't want to brush the ho',
So I said what the hell, since the bitch ain-'t well,
I'll get her a wife in law.

I said, "Bitch, you v/ait right here till you're feeling fair
Convalesce and get some rest,
I try to get back on my feet,

Now there ain't a hole in the game that has the name
For kicking the mud you've done kicked,
Now you just lay right there till you're feeling fair
For here's this bitch, with the v/hore house itch
That I could latch on to.

And then there is this redhead hole, who is willing to go
And deals all right with you."

Now when it gets like this and a good man's wish,
She'a only one faulty look.

After she'd get caught she didn't like loosening the hook
"Hell, no," she said, "I'll see you dead
Before I let you go

And the black coach of sorrow, will pick your ass up tomorrow
If you v/alk past beyond that door.
Now I lost my health to give you wealth
So you could play your bit

But you had to go dope mad, and blow all that cash
Now you are talking that stable shit,
I am not going for the brush or the bum hole's rush
And I know that's what you plan

Talking along those stable lines as sure as you are a man.

I am hip to the way you pimps try to play

And the load you'll drop on a frail,

But if this shit don't cease, I'll call the police

And put your ass in jailV'

So I laughed at thq dame and her jilted claim
As I jumped from my bod
And as I packcd my shit fixing to split,
This is what I said,

"Bitch you ain't no lame, you know the game

They call it come and blow.

You've had your run and now you are dono

I need me another hole

I can't swag of a swayback nag

And your thoroughbred days are past.

I would look damn silly putting a cripple filly

On a track that is much too fast...

Now I might put you in charge of a new hole^!s lodge

And give you some girls to rule,

But you talk about hell and sending me to jail

Ditch, you ain^ft no goddamn fool.

Now step aside I am fixing to slide.

Get the fuck off my back

My poke is low I need a speedy hole

That can run a speedy track."

Meanwhile laying on back in another hole shack

Fixing to run down my pettygree

A thunder shook and the door came under

I wondered who it could be.

In walked a policeman, on his face a deadly expression

He said if your name is Balls, ole macking Balls

All I want is a signed confession.

The bitch stood there with her finger in the air,

"That's him, that¹s him," she cried with glee

"yhe son of a bitch, with the con man pitch

Who made a stinking hole out of me."

Nov; a crushing blow sent me to the floor

I was lost in black repose and when I awoke

My jaw was broke, and blood was all over my clothes

Nov/ that just goes to show, that 1he strongest hole

Can give in to the female symptoms

And the bitch was born with the female scorn,

That booked me with 3 counts of pimping...

Wow I played it strong but it wasn't long

Before they hauled me into court.

And you should have seen the shit the bitch had wrote

On the books of the police report

In a 6 by 6 cell in the county jail

I sat watching the sun set in the East

As the morning chill and the jungle still

Gave slumber to the slumbering beast.

Farewell I say to you Jungle bright and neon lights

Farewell I say to you all

Farewell I say to the game, may I still feel the same
When I get through with this

(Untitled #1)

Now I v/as born already torn,
Completely out of my mind
I played my best role
In my mother's hole
Smokin' pot and drinkin' wine.

Nov; I reached aroun¹Until I found

The doctor's little black bag

His end was a bitch

I got such an itch

But still I think it^fs a drag.

Cause when I was six

I used to fix

Two spoons a day of stuff.

That^?s quite a bit
I must admit.

But it wasn't quite enough
Cause when I was ten
I got this yen

To smoke some good black hop.

The kick's so great

That I got so straight

That I'm never goin' to stop.

Nov/ I dig opium
And coke of course
But junk is really the most
It's the greatest kick
Just to fix

And then lay back and coast.

Nov/ you've heard of the junkie

And his habit in fact

Well get hip to me

I'm the monkey on his back.

Coco Joe's

I was dovm at Fat Fannie¹s last Saturday night

That's where all whores and prostitutes go

To shoot up cocaine and get their heads tight.

Nov; while smokin' a ten inch reefer

And looking down at my gin,

I heard a commotion in the hall

And old cool times Coco Joe came stumbling in.

I said, "I say Joe, is that blood on your shirt front?"

He said, "Yeh, I just been shot

All on account of dirty old cunt."

I said, "Sit dovm Joe and I'll call on old doc Sawbones.

You're lookin' kind of low."

"No," he said, "Buddy that's all right,

When you gotta go, you gotta go."

He said, "You give me a shot of drugs

And turn the lights dovm low

I'll tell you my story before I go."

"It happened about 10 years ago today
I ipet this bitch by the name of Jane.
Novt she was standing by the bar
Without a dime to her name.

She was very beautiful but looked a little unfed

I offered to buy the bitch a drink

But she said she'd take a meal instead.

How, Jim, that bitch could really put it away.

It was exactly 2 hours and 5 courses

Before she called it a day.

She said, ¹ Nov/ Daddy,

You look like the kind of guy that would treat a poor girl
right.

I didn't know where I was going to spend the night.'
She said, *I have no boy friend
Ho place to hang my hat.'
I said, 'That's all right baby
You can run my gambling flat.'

"I took her home and opened the door,

She said, 'Daddy, if it's all right with you

I'll sleep on the floor.'

Mow the thought of that fine bitch sleeping on the floor

»^v.ade my blood boil

I said, 'That's all right, baby

I've got some clean sheets to soil.'

How-you know where that fine bitch spent the night —

That's right.

In my bed

And.the way she twisted and turned
Alinbst made me lose my head.

5'8

"Well I took her out dancing

And bought her fine furs

I confessed that I loved her

And told her everything I had was hers.

Then my money started running low

I didn't know who to blame ,

I could plainly sec that bitch was not the same*

So I thought I'd pull me a score or two.

"That's when I come into my man,
Better known as Fat Jew.
Now we heist the Palm Beach Club,
We got 50 grand

But the night watchman spotted it

And shot it clean out of my hand.

Now Fat Jew he got away

By running through an empty flat --

But as fate would have it

I was trapped like a rat.

We11, they gave me 5 to 10 years

In the penitentiary,

And on visitor's day

That bitch came to see me.

'Joe, I hate to see you in stir,

But I'll send you some change,

And don't worry I'll always be the same.'

Now that bitch shot me a line of shit

But she shoved it that I fell

For I spent those 10 years

In natural fuckin' hell.

Well I paid my debt to society

And the day they set me free

I opened the door

And witnessed a sight I had never seen before.
Now there v/as Jane lay in' in my bed
Dressed in all kinds of lace
Fat Jew on his face

Eatin' cunt like he was runnin' a race.
Well I decided I wouldn't kill the bitch
I just said, we wuz through.

That's v/hen I looked in the closet for my 8 vines.

And there v/as only two.

I said, 'Jane, Jane,

My clothes, bitch

I left them in charge of you.'

Sho said, 'I don't know Daddy

I may have gave them to Fat Jew.'

Now when she said that,

She made a break for the old dressor draw

Where she kept her J8

I spun around, Jim, but I was a second too late.
She burned roe once, she burned me twice.
But I drew a bead on that hole
And put her hot ass on. ice. - ,

Well, I just thought I^fd tell you my story
Before I go

If anyone asks what this is all about,

Just tell them, cool times Coco Joe just played it out.ⁿ

s I

& i

Good Doin* Wheeler

There was good doin* wheeler

The big dope dealer,

From up on Boston Road.

The ties that he wore

Didn't come from no store

Queen Elizabeth knitted them by hand.

And his famous sky

Was thought so fly

The City of Boston had it banned.

His shoes were thin

Of baby's skin

Lined from hair of ten-year-old girls' cunts

It v/as so boss

Imagine the cost

And he only v/ore them once

His regular socks

Were woven with clocks

Combined with raven and gauze

And he threw them away

Four times a day ■ h M - ⁿ

As he changed to a different pair. _If, Ica

If it's Con the) clothing, no one knew n/Jo 0

And curiosity caused some men to die

But they came in hordes

Made like a Ford

And guided by the F.B.I.

Now it wasn't my intention

This shit to mention

'Cause you think it's a lie

But this son of a bitch

Won't v/ear a stitch

There weren't any more on the side

White on white, one

Made of light

Combined with evening gauze '

And Christian Dior

They sent him some more

Using them in open wounds.

He had his own private cooker

A known wine sucker,

But a genius v/ith a dropper and a spike.
He drew all his spot
Makes every shot

Of cool coca cola Five Star Mike.

Oh yeh that's part of the story
A different glory
And he shot cocaine by the ounce.
Nov* dealing was his stick

So he had to be slick

But we all slip somewhere on the line

And this trip

He wasn't being hip

To what was happening on the vine

He fell

Simple as hell

'Cause he didn't know the latest words*
And drop by drop
A narcotic cop

Busted Five Star with some Thunderbird

And two days and two nights

I had the . key to the pad

The boiler room stuffed with doogie

When Big Willie copped out

He copped bold 1751_t subdivision 2

Now five to ten

Even to a young man put a cramp in his style

That five from the start

Sat poor Willie for his heart

His roll was broader than his smile

Then he caught back four

And they opened the door.

Back in circulation he came

He swears up and down

All over town

"I wouldn't have nothing do with the game"

He said, "I think

I'll always drink

And occasionally smoke some pot

But as for stuff

I've had enough."

Four years ago I had my last shot

I'm going to find Pearl

Pearl, you know my girl?

I wantcha to get me straight

All the world knew

Poor Willie had blew

He was 2 years 6 months too late

They followed to see how things would do.

Cause when Pearl and Poor Willie met

She'd come up strong,

She's the swingingest broad in the state

They followed to see how Poor Willie would do

Cause ho really got up tight

Like all the rest

This was a test

To see how he stood

When hi3 pockets were light

Now he found Pearl in back of the Chick Shop

Holding a trick by the hair

She floated one eye going

And loosed his fly

Beating him for a grand.

She dig him, "Oh honey
Your jokes is funny"
One more pass
He rose from the grass
That was his ass,
Slowly he slid to the floor
Prom out his fly
She kept his high
Scooped the change from the bar
Then she gave the eye
To the bar snip nearby
Who took him outside to his car
Then she turns around juick
For another trick,
Then suddenly spotted Good Willie
She stared.
She stared and stared
The lady was scared
So I knew some trouble was brewin'
Good Willie slid in
V/ith a great big grin
And hollored, "Well, bless my soul
I've found Pearl,
My main, main girl
Bartender let the good times roll!"
Pearl say, "Willie,
If you spendin' money,
That's something that's all right with
I still want to know
How long your dough.
And I don't want hear
I want to see,
I don't want a big flash
I'm hot for the cash
The bigger the butter the
So if you got short dough
Please let me knov;
And tell me the rest in a
I know, you think you had
With that chicken ass fan
In the can
But as you know
Captain B. Belother
Gave me a plane
Nov; Willie there's been a
I'm out of your range
I'm dovm, sweet lovin' and swingin'
The Pearl you knew
The whole world blew
I wouldn't have an ounce to give
Don't stare and stare
That'll get you nowhere,
0, yes I knov;
I'm a dirty old ho'

better

letter,
bought

change.

But so's our mother

And your faggot ass brother."

I should have ran then

And slammed the door.

The joint there was hushed

Willie, he was crushed.

I dug there would be no trouble

The bartender, he said, "You mister,

You forgot to pay

You ordered everybody a double."

He paid the tab

And caught a cab

Do you know what' happened in the street?
Well he tried to blow,
All the studs was clean*duds.
He got beat

From that day Good Willie was gone.
One by one

He was doing so bad,
He sold his pad

His hat, his cunt, and his car.

He went to pay the doom

By selling his shoes

For a pair of sneakers and a #3 sack.

But dig the crag

He kept on the bag,

By selling the suit off his back,

He soon had a habit

That made him a rabbit

Lickin' from hole to hole

As soon as you cop

Up he pop

Half grown with

What you doin'?

Now he's Greasy Willie

Though he's petty and greasy

His life is not easy

Tryin' to duck the P.O. and the Man

Another stud in a place like his

Would turn you every chance he'd get

But I can't prove anything on this ground

At least he hasn't done it yet.

I figure some way

That you wonder by now

That Good Doin' Willie is me.

Oh I'll come up front

It's some thin.' I want

I've earned something don't you agree

Now times are rough

And I swear by God

And before this response was cut.

I've got a sting

That somethin' big,

If you keep this under your hat.

When I make this sting

I'll give you a ring

I swear you won't be forgotten

I mean it too

It'll be me and you

If you leave me a taste of that cotton.

Oh! yes that's part of my story

Different glory

But I got back on my feet

Cause I should know

Coppin' bulls

With information in the street

Now please don't sound

Because chances do go around

And I'm going to let you off to h^re

About that bad break

In an awful shape

That it made of Willie's pushing career.

That's it

The Pimp and His Broad

Let me give you this synopsis first. This pimp you know, he
got hooked on drugs and his bitch is downhearted because
all the money she makes and brings home he^fs spending
it on drugs. You know and the broad ain^rt went out hustlin'
for a week, you know, she's downhearted and he layin¹ in
the bed sick, you know, you know from drugs. He digs hisseli
All of a sudden he jumps up and he says,

Say girl, say what's wrong with you
Seems like lately, you don't dig the things I do.
Seems like everything I do is wrong
If I should go to the store,
You say that I stay too long.
If I bring back butter, you say you want lard,
vlf we get in bed.and fuck, you say my dick ain't hard .
Here's something else I don't dig about you lately:
You say you can't make no money
Because the block is hot.
Well , bitch, get me some money
I don't care if you gotta fuck the cop
You say the cop's on one corner,
And the G-men on the other,

Bitch, I don't care if you gotta trick with your mother.

Motherfucker, all these honest Johns and dead eye dicks,

Bitch get out on the street

And turn some tricks.

If you don't get out of this pad

And get out fast

I'm going to put my 100 dollar shoes in your ten cent ass.

I mean, I'm no pimp,

Please clon't misunderstand me

I'm the motherfucking King of Siam,

I am.

(Untitled

Now it's been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt

That a chicken shit bitch just won't help you out.

You take a chicken shit bitch from the word, say go,

Well her principles are high, but her character is loxtf.

Now before I started pimpin', I was just fuckin' around,

Stealin' every little thing that wasn't nailed dovm.

Such as costume jewelry and 93 cents ring

Then I met Nanny and she was down on her luck,

I took the dirty bitch out and I dressed her up.

To show her appreciation, she started turning tricks

The very first night she turned twenty-six.

Now she made good money, but not good enough,

So I got me a connection and started dealing stuff.

Well, I finally fell on a possession and sale

And I called that dirty bitch to go my bail.

Well, three days passed and the bitch didn't show

Now this turn put me somewhat to the wise

And I went to court, and it was just the other day

And my bitch came along too, by the way.

She said she came to plead and cry,

She was standing there to testify

When the judge gave me my time, she damn near smiled
She said, "Daddy, I won't be tricking for you for a long long
while."

Well I got up to the joint, and I was feeling a little better,

Up popped the hack with this one page letter.

It read, "Dear sweet daddy, I loved you so,

But there's a few things I must say, before I go.

Now I went to see your lawyer but he wasn't in,

I'll be up to see you, but God knows when.

And I brought you some Pall Hall cigarettes, but I smoked them
myself

The doctor says I have to go South for my health.

Things on the street sure are tight,

I had to turn tricks with your best friend last night.

Yes Daddy_Jfthings out here sure are bad,

I even had to turn a trick v/ith your broke dick dad.

Oh I'm eatin' fried chicken and fuckin' every night,

So I guess things will turn out all right.

Now I woulda got you out the very same day,

But I met your old friend Butch down the way,

He said he was sad to hear that you were gone,

But he would be glad to carry your romance on.

So I feel for you Biddy with very little pain

For the torch that I'd carried for you had done burned out
And now that our love is gone and a thing of the past,
Here's a formal invitation to kiss my ass."

She said her tits were made of brimstone, her pussy was made
of brass,

She said she was fuckin¹ working men and all pimps could kiss
her ass.

And every fool knew, that everything she said was true,
And all I could retort was, "Bitch, you got it all wrong!
Because I'm the pimpingest mother fucker that ever put words
to a song.

And I read your letter, it sure was cold,
But I still have my position to uphold,
So may the bleeding piles torment you, 3

And may crabs as big as crocodiles climb up your asshole and eat
And may corns grow on your mother fuckin¹ feet.
May the whole world turn against you,
And your life be a miserable wreck

May you trip and fall in your own asshole and break your goddamned
neck.

And before I'd scale your slimy legs and suck on your fested tits,
I'd drink a barrel of drunkard's puke and die of the drizzling
shits.

I'm fuckin' school girls, you whores can kiss my ass."
And further more my prick is made of brimstone and my balls
are made of brass.

DEAR JOHN

Here I am, all fresh out of court,
Feeling like a school kid, with
A bad report. The hack said Son,
You look mad at the world, Oh! By
The way, heres a letter from your girl.
Mow. the letter v/as post marked three
Days old, so I opened it quick
Before her love got cold. It was
A letter from my best girl, that much
Is true, but, what that girl wrote me,
Just wouldn't do. And turning tricks,
V/as this whores best art, but the shit
She wrote, she over played the part.
It began, My Dearest Darling,
Be loveable one, now you must pay
For the things you have done, you
Played the con game fairley well,
But a ounce of Heroin, landed
Your ass in jail.
I started to pray for you, but I
Forgot my prayer,

I started to church, but I never got there
I was by to see your lawyer, but he
Wasn't in,

And I'll be down to see you, but God knows
v/hen.

I was going to send you some money, as
Quick as a flash,

But the Post Office was closed, and
I couldn't send cash.
I brought you some cigaretts, and put
Them on the shelf,

But times got so hard, I had to smoke
Them myself.

And do you remember that money, you

Hid behind the door?

Well I found it, and you know

It's not there anymore.

And that ring you had, that shines

Like a star, well the finance man got that

And your mothcrfucking car.

And your man Al, he was by the other night

He brought some horse and cocaine,

And got my head up tight.

lie had no place to stay, so I let him

Sleep in your bed,

And why didn't you tell me, Al v/as a
Genuine throaghbred.
And do you remember the clothes,
You had in pawn,

VJell I got them out, and your man AI,
Got them on.

And Al took me to the doctor, because

I wasn't feeling my best,

Doc said I was tired and worn out,

And I needed a rest.

So me and Al, is going out west,

And you know what I'm going to do,

Sell your motherfucking house, and

All your sharp vines too.

And you remember what you said about

Doing things right,

V/ell I'm getting high everyday, and

Taking care business every night.

So you need not worry about your

Common lav/ wife,

If you don't get the chair, I hope
The judge gives you life.

Footnotes and Addenda

In connection with the writing of this paper I wish
particularly to thank the numerous men in prison, hospital
and rehabilitation centers who have read toasts to me and/or
have commented on them freely and wittily. I also wish to
thank Miss Amber Livingston and Miss Flora Sonnanstine for
having edited this paper. I wish to thank Miss Mary Green for
her critical comments and her typing and Miss Mildred Salvador.

The scope of Exodus House's present program has been made
possible through a demonstration projcct grant from the Nov: York
State Narcotic Addiction Control Commission. The statements made
herein are the reponsibility of the author and not necessarily
those of Exodus House or of the Commission.

P. ii (1)

Alan Dundes has stressed the importance of studying the oral
literature of people in its cultural context, noting that "if, a
genre of oral literature is found in a culture" there will also be
a tradition of the use of the genre, emphasis in original, p. 122,
in "Oral Literature" llb-129 Introduction to Cultural Anthropology,
Clifton, James A. ed. Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, 19&8.
The gap between the oppressive life of "the prisons within which
these toasts were composed and the social imaginings bedded in them
give us a possible measure of their functions as psychic compensations.
Morris Opler has shown how among the the Jicarilla Apaches eveeryday
life and the behavior of folklore characters were much more congruent
than in other cultures*

But prisoners had also been addicts in the street* Some of
the toasts such as Honky Tonk Bud struck their hearers as being
very true. Other toasts however corresponded to wishes unfulfilled
in the street.

P. 4 (2)

Do we add to our understanding of the process of drug taking
and drug addiction if we think of some drugs as having pseudo-charismatic
powers? More specifically the so called anti-authoritarian addict,
the self styled rebels and fighter of state power represent heroin,
WHEN IT IS IDEALLY FOUNQ as possessed of an "enhanced identity"
which transforms the lives of those which follow it. Like every
charis matic figure King Heroin has a selective audience, but
many other young people attach themselves to this democratically
royal presence with a lesser elective affinity. See the interesting
article by Perinbanyagam, N.G. "The Dialectics of Charisma" in
The Sociological Quarterly, 1971,12, 387-402

P. 5 (3)

The distinction between reality and appearance becomes blurred
in the lives of the addicted, so that sometimes, under the impact
of drugs, "imagining"' and "doing" might be mistaken for each other.
After awhile, many of the addicted, stressing that they "need" to
have their heroin find it hard to distinguish "true needs" from
"false needs". In this however they may largely caricature modern
society. CF. Leiss, -William "The Critical Theory of Society" 74-101
at page 99 in B. Reines, Paul ed. Critical Interruptions, Herder
and Herder, 1970

P. 9 (4)

The tall talo, and more generally, tho pattern of hyperbolic
conduct, is to be understood in the light of a' culture which places
massive stresses and strain on masses or near masses of people.
*o survive or move up by pursuing one cc-rtral value in a highly com-
petitive milieu, they must go to extremes. The English p?3ycholgist
J. Cohen has shown that English football players tended to over-
estimate their abilities to make long shots, and underestimated their
abilities to make the short shots. TFor this and other pertinent
instances see Carney, Richard E. Risk Taking Behavior Charles S. Thomas,
Publisher, Springfield 1971 at page 10, part of lien,, Daryl's "The
Concept of Risk in the Study of Human Behavior" 4-1&U) Whore the
culture's Imagining Order fiffers the promise of the Big Game, The

(con¹t)
P.9 (4)

Mutimillion Heist, The Super Bowl, etc, etc, we may say that it
structures imaginings along hyperbolic lines.

P. 14 (5)

Is it an accident that the man who can be- controlled, in
theory, by manipulating his drug supply, really feels helpless?
Or that despite hyperbolic expressionalism one can depend*upon
his dependence and predict what he will do as a general pattern?
Many years ago Karl Mannheim noted that "(b)ehavorism is interested
in human beings only as part of the social machine, not as individuals,
but only as dependable links in a chain of action" p. 214 in Man
ana Society in An A^e of Reconstruction London Routledge and Kegan
Paul Linited n.d. The Organization or "Syndicate" treats its
subordinates, and the addicts precisely in behavioristic terms.
Could one link the vogue of Skinnerism in the 1970^Ts and the trends
in the addict culture to the deeping crisis of American society?

P. 16 (6)

Cf. here the suugestive comments in Belle, O.J. "Confession
and punishment in autnorit 1-arian relationships", Correctional
Psychiatry and the Journal of Social Therapy 1970, 16-69-73.
Especially note the point that both the chronic victim and the
oppressor share the "pathological cycle" of confession and punish-
ment. Belle fails to note that where collectivities of men share
the pattern, as in prison, then there is an intervening variable
between punishment and confession-rioting.

?. 22 (7)

Thus what a woman experiences as her ability to get her way
looms as a force that threatens a man's life control. But note
that for the woman, and thin is superbly illustrated in Darielle,
the concern about mobility, of rotting the Big Catch, which fits
into the Imagining Order of a business system, is a legitimate way
of not really getting to 1Y<-1 a do op stable' committment to a human
being independent of his voir. In all this the toasts of course
are but a caricaturu of sirnif;cant /American ti'cnds. For what might
bo Ciilied u cMrlcat'iro oV the caricaturo, see the discussion of the
twingero" in Bartul.l, Gilbert f.roup So;: Hew American Library 1971,
l'c*/<. Darielie also do ponds on her body not to be dependent on
anybody else

P. (•)

The picture of the Federal Judr.e and the U.S DA in Honky Tonk Sud

1'.)•:,•tier- then, in the realm of politics and the forum of public -

opinion in a mass society. It is interesting to contrast the picture
■•A the city judf,c presented by A. Blunberg in his "The Judge as
bureaucrat" 226-236 in Glaser, D. Crime in the City Harper and Row

,-V ₁₉₇₀ -'-—--^ '

P. 27 (9) 1

Although it may be an expression of underlying helplessness
as much of its dangerousness, escaping from prison, as a fantasy,
does not, in any of these toasts, really mean escaping over the
walls. This is "escapist" but not a prison cage fantasy. Could
be that such toasts actually "compensated" some men suffiently to
"adjust" them to prison oppressiveness? We need some research :

here on those who try to escape from prison. See for instance, i
Rentera, R.A and Hold, N. "The anatomy of an escape" in American j
Journal of Corrections 1971, 38 (10-15) for some indication of the
importance of pre-escape attempt, and in prison crisis and the place;
of "child-like fantasy". j

P. 31 (2) j

See the deadpanned analysis on "The Phenomenology of Fucking" 1
by Michael Kosok in Telos, 1971,364-77*, "In both rape and the !

conquest fantasy, the other is regarded only as the object to be I
possessed and the self as the image projected into the other power I
in the act.of possession", p. 45. Darielle and Van are corr^lativesj

P. 43 (11)

Both Longshoe Sam and Siuitty Cocaine are players in the addict
argot. That is they (1) are virtuosi of risks and (2) they thrive
on histrionics they are role players. This fusion is the role aspeot
of what Goffman, as opposed to Parsons, calls "action", overlooked'
in a conservative analysis such as Van £»en Haag's Passion and Social
Constraint Dell N.Y. 1963* "Nothing is more important to actors
than their success in any role. Because we are not quite sur£ of the
demands of the role, we cannot measure our performance by them; we
stand in need of constant reassurance and, like actors, we use
applause as our main meaning of excellence". But it is precisely
here that the delight in statistic patterns, and in aleatory ex-
periences in particular, adds thrills to the histrionic. The addic|
is an actor, he says so, but he plays Pagliaccio at cliff's ed^e.
Longshoe Sam and Cocaine Smitty with its ambiguous focus (is it sexf
is it drugs, is it both, is it neither?) also takes us into the f
exceedingly tantalizing question of the relationship between the drkg
economy and what Wilhelm Riech called the "sex-economy". The addi<?§
culture, in this relationship both to the ghetto and middle class
cultures, raises some fine points both for and against his theme (i
as enunciated in his The Invasion of Compulsory Sex Morality Farra**¹& Strauss' company 1971, part II 143-170

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