I get tired of singing to the guys I beat up in motion pictures.
A little less conversation, a little more ACTION.
Animals don't hate, and we're supposed to be better than them.
On a cold and gray Chicago morning another little baby child is born in the ghetto, and his Mama cries.
I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to.
I'll be a fool or a wiseman, my darling, you hold the key. Anyway you want me, that's how I will be.