“Look how many n—-s I got on stage with me.”
Hey, Mr. Davis. I asked you politely–
“I got so many n—-s that a couple of ’em ain’t even n—-s.”
–not to use that word.
“Got a Jew. Real Jewy Jew, too. Bagelfaced motherfucker.”
“And I got two Indians. The foreign Indians, not the ones from the movies. They playin’ Indian shit.”
It’s an enormous band.
“Who’s that bunch of hillbillies you listen to?”
The Grateful Dead.
“How many motherfuckers in that band?”
Anywhere from 5-8.
“Pussies. I’m thinkin’ about gettin’ four or five more motherfuckers. Maybe I’ll get some Eskimos. Are Eskimos real, or they some made-up white bullshit like leprechauns?”
They’re real, and they like to be called Inuit.
“It’s my band. I’ll call ’em snow-n—-s if I want.”
I’m so glad you lived when you did.
“Should be. I contributed to the fucking world, motherfucker.”