Something I wrote to a pretty girl once:
Listen lady, you may may shine in a town full of rubes, but your fish stories ain’t gunna fly in the big city.
I’m wise to you and any more yap and things are gunno go sour. Real sour.
So keep your paws where I can see em and your stems planted. I’m gunna get on the horn and have the bull rain down from the mountain if you don’t spill, and I mean yesterday, you got me sister?
And don’t gimme that look neither. I seen a million dames like you, purse full of broken dreams, dancing for enough dimes to take that long train from Kansas. They can all go back there for all I care, or to hell. I got a job to do and you’re the only one who seems to have any answers. So let’s see if those painted lips can do anything but lie and make boys mumble.