Now alright mama before we get this whole humdinger a shakin, the King is gonna need a few things. Hey, Pops, could you have them in the back shake me up a peanut butter and banana sandwich with some of the King’s special pep pills…and… baby toes. C’mon now, I’m the King! She wrote upon it, Return to Sender…address unknown, no such person…no such so.
Alright, so now the King’s feelin’ the pinch of this here economy, Jack. I had to sell my midget to some Chinese guy in Koreatown. It was worse then the time I woke up in Hank Williams’ bathtub wearing a table cloth with ketchup stains on it… hmmm… ketchup. Hey, Colonel, can you have them mix me up a sandwich with cherry apples, cow tongue, a minced Al Kaline rookie card….and…baby toes. C’mon now, I’m the King! Every body in the whole cell block, was dancing to the jailhouse rock.
Now before the economy became such a huckleberry, the the King used to wear velvet underpants every place he went. But, now I only wear velvetine underpants…with tassels. Hey, turtledove, you think you can come over hear rub the King’s neck flap, the rhinestones are itchy…ah, yeah…whooo weeee. You makin’ the King be all like….Her lips are like a volcano that’s hot, I’m proud to say shes my buttercup, I’m in love… I’m all shook up… mm mm oh, oh, yeah, yeah!
Alright…alright…the economy. You see, Priscilla don’t really like it when I talk about aliens… but I’ve got something to say about that. It’s these here aliens that keep stealing the King’s fucking sandwich! HOT POTATO COLONEL, WHERE IS MY SANDWICH! Look, here’s what I need, have ’em do it up: one sandwich, alright now, with sardines, peanut butter, the Metro section of the last Tuesday’s Cleveland Plain Dealer, a question mark…and baby toes AND you Colonel, if you want to keep your 60% publishing rights you will get in that fucking sandwich and get in my stomach…now! Because I’m evil, my middle name is misery. Well I’m evil, so don’t you mess around with me.