HOSS: (another voice shift) You mugs expect to horn in on our district and not have to pay da price? Bosses don’t sell out that cheap to small-time racketeers. You gotta toe the line, punk, or you’ll end up just like Mibbsey.

CROW: Very nice slide, Leathers. Just when I had you pinned between second and third.

HOSS: Don’t give me that! I had you gimpy. You were down on one knee! I saw you twitchin!

CROW: Sometimes the skin deceives. Shows a power ripple. Misconstrued, Leathers. Misconstrued.

HOSS: You were fishtailing all over the track! I had you tagged solid!

CROW: Posi-traction rear end. No pit stops the whole route. Maybe you got a warp in yer mirror.

HOSS: You’re the warp in my mirror! You were dropped down!

CROW: Sounds like a bad condenser. Points and plugs maybe.

HOSS: Suck ass! I had you clean! And stop walkin like that! That’s not the way you walk, that’s the way I walk!

(Sudden stop. They face off. HOSS rises slowly from chair.)

HOSS: All right. All right, I can handle this. I’m seeing the face of this now. But I need a Ref. I ain’t playin unless we score. Traditional. Blade to bone. Keepers rule.

CROW: It’s yer party, Hoss. Scoring strokes you, let’s score.

HOSS: I’m gonna take you Gypsy. I’m gonna whup you so bad you’ll wish we had done the throw-down. Then I’m gonna send you back with a mark on yer forehead. A mark that won’t never heal.

CROW: Yer crossin wires now, Leathers. My send is to lay you cold. I’ll play flat out to the myth but the blood runs when the time comes. Sangre. Matar.

HOSS: Yer well padded, Crow Bait, but the layers’ll peel like a skinned buck. I’m gonna get me a Ref now. You best use the time to work out. Woodshed a little. Get yer chops down. You need some sharpening up. When I get back it’s head-to-head till one’s dead.

(HOSS exits. CROW alone, sings.)

CROW: Song: “Mr. Lucky/Swizzle Stick”

MR. LUCKY/SWIZZLE STICK

Bongo rama llama Ram Das Kapital
Boo! Who are you know me
Bruja ya ya no no nah nah
Felon felon I can hear you coming even when you say good-bye
Jump through your skin sin sin has been Franklin

Revealing with the feeling in the eye is sci fi
In the back is black Jack no taste for sacrifice
I’ll show you your desire if you think it
I can crack it through
I will give it to you
I will give it to you

I will turn your cool incendiary
Then infiltrate your pride
And lace your faith with cyanide
Whatever fools the eye is true
I will jerk the world from under you
Swizzle stick
Bleed! Distort!

My constant aim is to spread sweetness and light
What’s yours is mine kampf vanilla in Manila
Dig in Dig in Dig in sleek