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Twas een feestje hoor jongens. 
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You pick up this working girl who's hooked on smack, who hussles and scores. "That's all I do" she says, she says "Ten bucks for head, fifteen for half-and-half". She says "Three hits a day at 35 per", you say "That's seven tricks a day at least", but she says "Sometimes I get lucky. Once this guy gives me a bill-and-half just to eat me, only time I ever came".
You figure you can save her. You sell your color tv, that keeps her off the streets a whole day. You hawk your typewriter for one jolt. Then your shotgun, your watch. A week later you say "Listen I'm a little short", but she says "No scratch, no snatch". You say "Look it is better to give", but she says "Beat off creep".
One night they spot you on the street in your skibbies trying to sell your shoes. You tell them who you are, but they nail you. Then she happens by and she says "Christ you look fucked", she says "Hang tough!". But you don't say anything, you just think "what a bum rap for a nice, sensitive guy like me".
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De jongen centraal in beeld met een zwart hemd is voor mij duidelijk een Waal. Maar ik wil daar niks mee zeggen he, geen reden om zo agressief te reageren. Anders had ik hier al vroeger mee liggen lullen dat Charleroi stinkt...
