Look here, Chongo, you bindle punk. You keep yapping, but we fingered you for a gunsel, a grifter...you know, we've been hinky about you 'cause your mush looks like somebody put some sap poison on it, sap. Now you shut your yap about my bo, Amos, or you might find somebody popping some pills for you, see? Maybe a section eight or a hophead or even a frail will put a new smile below your chin. So why don't you stay dormy in the dive you climbed to, huh? And don't try to cool me, daisy, because I go a chopper squad on the South Side who'll see you get a Chicago overcoat before you even think about it.