There was another time in the early Sixties when I was singing in a coffeehouse and a guy offered me roughly five times what I was making per night at the coffeehouse to come and sing a few songs at a late party. Sure, says I. It turned out to be a gathering of salesmen who were (I think) in town for a convention. The party was in a big room in one of the nicer hotels in downtown Seattle. I sang for a while, then the guy who invited me asked If he could borrow my guitar. What followed was an open ended song made up of whatever limericks anyone could come up with, to the tune of—what?—the Mexican Hat Dance? Anyway, the chorus ran

"Aye aye aye aye
In China they never eat chili.
Let's have another one
Just like the other one,
And waltz me around again, Willie."

Anyway, people tossed in whatever limericks they could think of—and talk about raunchy!!—for also well over a half-hour, until finally the hotel night manager knocked on the door and asked us to keep it down.

The guy paid me in cash—more than he had initially offered—and sent me home in a cab.

Don Firth