Treat 'em like a prostitute, don't treat 'em well until your sure of the scoop.
If you want to know somebody, fight 'em. Have a fistfight with them.
I like my raps but I'm never too happy with some of 'em because I feel like they could be better. But every time I hear my flow on that song I wow myself.
You know, there's a million fine looking women in the world, dude, but they don't all bring you lasagna at work. Most of 'em just cheat on you.
Losing is like smoking. It's habit forming”; “Fear is the basis of all mankind. In cards, you psyche 'em out, you shark 'em, you put the fear of God in 'em
How it works is you have an organization that provides you with players, and our job, as we’ve said all along, is just to coach ’em up.
Thing is, while I know better, I like sounding ignorant. Talk like this and people figure you're about as dumb as a fencepost, which suits me fine. Makes it all that much easier to take advantage of 'em.
We do all like to get things inside a barb-wire corral. Especially our fellow-men. We love to round them up inside the barb-wire enclosure of FREEDOM, and make 'em work. Work, you free jewel, WORK! shouts the liberator, cracking his whip.
How I love to get a letter! I can think of nothing better Than perusing an epistolary item. But deep is my despondence, For I've found that correspondence Means that if you want to get 'em, You must write 'em!
I really didn't say everything I said. [...] Then again, I might have said 'em, but you never know.
A pair of bright eyes with a dozen glances suffice to subdue a man; to enslave him, and enflame him; to make him even forget; they dazzle him so that the past becomes straightway dim to him; and he so prizes them that he would give all his life to possess 'em.
Since a woman must wear chains, I would have the pleasure of hearing 'em rattle a little.
Everyone thinks I'm a wimp and even my own band hates me. Oh, well. I guess I'll just flip 'em the bird!
Poor dog! I've a strange feeling about the dumb things as if they wanted to speak, and it was a trouble to 'em because they couldn't. I can't help being sorry for the dogs always, though perhaps there's no need. But they may well have more in them than they know how to make us understand, for we can't say half what we feel, with all our words.
Ah, I often think it's wi' th' old folks as it is wi' the babies; they're satisfied wi' looking, no matter what they're looking at. It's God A'mighty's way o' quietening 'em, I reckon, afore they go to sleep.
I don't remember ever being see-saw, when I'd made my mind up that a thing was wrong. It takes the taste out o' my mouth for things, when I know I should have a heavy conscience after 'em. I've seen pretty clear, ever since I could cast up a sum, as you can never do what's wrong without breeding sin and trouble more than you can ever see. It's like a bit o' bad workmanship--you never see th' end o' the mischief it'll do. And it's a poor look-out to come into the world to make your fellow creatures worse off instead o' better.
The world ... is full of people who never knew what hit 'em, their lives are over before they wake up.
Funny how the world always praises its opera-singers so much and pays 'em so well and then starves its shoemakers, and yet it needs good shoes so much more than it needs opera--or war or fiction.
There were always more Negroes in the field than there was Negroes in the house. The Negro in the field caught hell. He ate leftovers. In the house they ate high up on the hog. The Negro in the field didn't get nothing but what was left of the insides of the hog. They call 'em "chitt'lin'" nowadays. In those days they called them what they were: guts. That's what you were -- a gut-eater. And some of you all still gut-eaters.
There are parents out there screaming as if their kid is going to be in the big leagues someday. C'mon. I chew them out if I see that. Maybe they've got their own idea how to do things, but it's wrong. Just be with the kids. Let 'em make errors. Give them all a chance. It's not about winning. It's spirit, togetherness.
In the deepest pits of 'Ell, Where the worst defaulters dwell (Charcoal devils used as fuel as you require 'em), There's some lovely coloured rays, Pyrotechnical displays, But you can't expect the burning to admire 'em!
As if a woman of education bought things because she wanted 'em.
Animal crackers in my soup Monkeys and rabbits loop the loop Gosh oh gee but I have fun Swallowing animals one by one In every bowl of soup I see Lions and Tigers watching me I make 'em jump right through a hoop Those animal crackers in my soup When I get hold of the big bad wolf I just push him under to drown Then I bite him in a million bits And I gobble him right down When their inside me where it's dark I walk around like Noah's ark I stuff my tummy like a goop With animal crackers in my soup.
Brains are an asset to the woman in love who's smart enough to hide 'em.
Break windows, smoke cigars, and stay up late. Tell 'em to do that, they'll find a little pot of gold.
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