This is well done on a lawyer's side,
stubbing our noses at the middle class,
then finally finding you're paying the mortgage, right?
So I wrote this.
This is one that works all over the world.
I read this poem in Poland, see?
Yeah, we have same problem here.
Monologue.
This is "The Middle Class Blues" and it rhymes.
People are very embarrassed about rhyming.
It's not supposed to be hip, but it's OK to rhyme, OK?
I mean, I just think that's just another dogma.
How many people have read the Imagist Manifesto?
Raise your hands.
There you see.
I'm thankful that the faculty's here.
Great.
Raise your hands.
[LAUGHTER]
There's beautiful niggas probably here.
I'm glad to see that.
But anyway, Imagists say don't rhyme
in a way with iambic pentameter and also,
being the devil's advocate I kind of say, OK, if you're
against it I won't use that.
And if you think my rhymes are bad, read Tennyson's, OK?
[LAUGHTER]
OK.
Let me read our epigram first.
"I know of a man who treated his body like a dog.
The dog ran away."
OK?
[LAUGHTER]
This is "The Middle Class Blues."
I got the middle class blues, I play by middle class rules,
all this middle class life is a life full of strife.
The bourgeois state can be a sweet and sour pill.
When the first rolls around you got to deal with the bills.
So, hey, Mr. Bartender, bring me a dry vermouth and gin,
fix me a black olive, and a big martini before I hit the wind.
I constantly get headaches and my back is often sore.
Being the first one on the freeway
is becoming such a bore.
At work they got a robot that soon will have my job.
I'm too old to start all over, too old to learn to rob.
So, hey, Mr. Bartender, bring me a dry vermouth and gin,
fix me a black olive, and a big martini before I hit the wind.
The roof is always leaking, the plumbing needs some screws,
everybody on the block it seems knows how to barbecue.
My next door neighbors are ticked at me,
my lawn is turning brown.
There's always something that must be fixed
every time you turn around.
So, hey, Mr. Bartender, bring me a dry vermouth and gin,
fix me a black olive, and a big martini before I hit the wind.
My son is getting married to a woman older than me.
He just turned 20 the other week, she's going on 63.
My daughter is on narcotics, her eyes are always red,
the car wouldn't start this morning
and I toss and turn in bed.
So, hey, Mr. Bartender, bring me a dry vermouth and gin,
fix me a black olive, and a big martini before I hit the wind.
The communists say I'm an ingrate,
the capitalists took my house, the old people
say I neglect them, the young call me a louse.
The tax man sent me a letter, he's coming here tonight,
sometimes it's gets so heavy at home, I'm never right.
So, hey, Mr. Bartender, bring me a dry vermouth and gin,
fix me a black olive, and a big martini before I hit the wind.
The doctor says it's no good to have this stress
and mess, the ulcers that will get you a classy middle class
nest.
A cat that won't eat store food, must have its abalone,
and don't forget the deadline to pay the alimony.
So, hey, Mr. Bartender, bring me a dry vermouth and gin,
fix me a black olive, and a big martini before I hit the wind.
Well, I'm tired of paying the dentist
and going under the knife and doing all those things you
do to stay the bourgeois life.
The rich, they live in heaven.
The poor they live in hell.
And I live somewhere in between, a sign outside says "For
sale.".
So, hey, Mr. Bartender, bring me a dry vermouth and gin,
fix me a black olive, and a big martini, let me go on
and get this win.
[APPLAUSE]
OK?
Now, thank you.