I ain't a beggar. [JUST AN GOOD OLD FASHIONED THIEF!]
Good way to prevent that might'a been for someone in your town to give half a crap what fate might befall her. Maybe y'all could take a few lessons from how we see to our own harlots. [FUCK 'EM AND PAY 'EM, BOYS. FUCK 'EM AND PAY 'EM.]
Oh, just... this fella we used to know. Old Red Indian who used to go with the Hardson Brothers. He was a balloon artists but he weren't very good at it, no one could tell his cats from his chickens. Still, he was a good old soul and he worked hard, went by the name 'Red Horse', and he worked the Hardson's Carnivale all his life. Now a few years back we was passin' by Jackson and we latched together for one big blow out of a show together, and some of the guys from the town, they started hasslin' him, mockin' him, said that he was mad, to be so old and actin' so young. Now, eventually he told them boys to beat it, and you know what they done instead?
They dragged old red horse off, and tarred and feathered him. Scorched all his skin off and burned him black with the tar. He died like that, alone and in agony, because of them mean ass townies who couldn't respect a poor man's work.
So we move the hell along, and the next town we come too? Everythin's a little better, until some mean old men start hassling Henry, now, he ain't been doin the balloons too long at this point, and he weren't planning on having to take the weight of two shifts all alone, so he just lets them talk him down, and later me and him sat back out in my tent practicing. And that's where we are when the same mook who was most rude about his work comes shoutin' up the hill, asking what the hell kinda joke we think we're playing, leaving our balloons out on his yard. And he's carrying this messy little red balloon. Well, we told him we didn't no nothin' about it, and he gave us a piece of his mind, but what's he gonna do about it? He goes back to his house? We go back to my tent.
Next day, they find him and his whole family, wife and two big sons, skin scorched off by tar, and their pillows all torn open, to strew around with feathers.
HAVE A HIDEOUS CARNIE GHOST STORY.
Good way to prevent that might'a been for someone in your town to give half a crap what fate might befall her. Maybe y'all could take a few lessons from how we see to our own harlots. [FUCK 'EM AND PAY 'EM, BOYS. FUCK 'EM AND PAY 'EM.]
Oh, just... this fella we used to know. Old Red Indian who used to go with the Hardson Brothers. He was a balloon artists but he weren't very good at it, no one could tell his cats from his chickens. Still, he was a good old soul and he worked hard, went by the name 'Red Horse', and he worked the Hardson's Carnivale all his life. Now a few years back we was passin' by Jackson and we latched together for one big blow out of a show together, and some of the guys from the town, they started hasslin' him, mockin' him, said that he was mad, to be so old and actin' so young. Now, eventually he told them boys to beat it, and you know what they done instead?
They dragged old red horse off, and tarred and feathered him. Scorched all his skin off and burned him black with the tar. He died like that, alone and in agony, because of them mean ass townies who couldn't respect a poor man's work.
So we move the hell along, and the next town we come too? Everythin's a little better, until some mean old men start hassling Henry, now, he ain't been doin the balloons too long at this point, and he weren't planning on having to take the weight of two shifts all alone, so he just lets them talk him down, and later me and him sat back out in my tent practicing. And that's where we are when the same mook who was most rude about his work comes shoutin' up the hill, asking what the hell kinda joke we think we're playing, leaving our balloons out on his yard. And he's carrying this messy little red balloon. Well, we told him we didn't no nothin' about it, and he gave us a piece of his mind, but what's he gonna do about it? He goes back to his house? We go back to my tent.
Next day, they find him and his whole family, wife and two big sons, skin scorched off by tar, and their pillows all torn open, to strew around with feathers.