It's My Job, It's What

I Have No Intention Of Uttering My Last Words On The Stage. Room Service And A Couple Of Depraved Young Women Will Do Me Quite Nicely For An Exit.

People're Artists They're Doing Something, Taking A Hunk Of Chaps, Giving It Some Order, Some Form, And Presenting It Saying Here Is My Little Song And Dance, My Chaos.

I'm Not Working-class: I Come From The Criminal Classes.

Irish Women Are Always Carrying Water On Their Heads, And Always Carrying Their Husbands Home From Pubs. Such Things Are The Greatest Posture-builders In The World.

For Me, Life Has Either Been A Wake Or A Wedding.