Poetry In My Soul

Carter. Yeah. I feel a hunk of poetry coming on. Well, let it go right by, will you, John?

Oh, I can't. I got poetry in my soul, I guess. Oh. Get this, Carter. Here I lie on a rooftop high, waiting till I see a guy. Come out of City Hall across the street, and then I'll plug him nice and neat.

It smells. How do you want it with music? Yeah, loud music, loud enough to don it out. You sure wish his honor and company would trace out a city hall out. Getting sore elbows lying up here in this roof.

Oh, that'd be out pretty soon. All of them were. That meeting in the mayor's office was supposed to be over at noon. It's a quarter after already. Got your rifle set and ready. You? My fingers itchier than poison ivy.

Oh, Carter, I feel a hug of poetry coming out. I think this is the last job we'll do together now. Shut up, will you? The rooftop is no place for poor things. It's a nice place for a sunbat, though, huh?

What? I like to lie in the blazing sun. Oh, okay. Until on one side, I am done. What? And then I flip on my other side and tan the rest of my little hide. Oh, brother.

Somebody should have tanned your hide a long time ago. Your stuff gets worse every time. Well, how do you want it? Would it quiet? Yeah, quiet. Angel hoisin' you in the heaven. Oh, car. Check the sight of that rifle.

All right. You'll never use one of these telescopic jaws before. Listen, I'll be able to ping this guy with my eyes closed. Hey, Carter. Yes. Here's the mayor. Yeah. Got guys with him too. Easy.