So he plays a song for the bar owner who loves it. He gushes. “Incredible! You wrote that in prison?! What's the name of it?”
“I call that one “I smacked down the hooker who was sucking my cock!””
Taken back, the owner just gestures him on. “Play another!”
Again, a beautiful tune. The fellows fingers were like magic. “And what's that one called?”
“That one is “I probably shouldn't have killed your dog but he kept shitting in my yard, so fuck you.””
The owner was aghast. “Where do you get these names?” He asks.
“Well, everytime a new con showed up, I'd write a song named after what they were convicted for.”
The owned laughs understanding. “Alright, alright. You're hired… under one condition. You never tell anyone the names of your songs.”
Shaking hands, the con leaves the interview.
Later…
A fantastic Saturday night. The bar is mobbed. Everyone is there to see the new piano virtuoso. He played all night. Never a missed note, never a bad song. Everyone danced. Everyone loved him and was buying him drinks.
After seven or eight shots, he stumbled off to be bathroom. Drunk as he was, when he returned, he had forgotten to zip up his drawers. Standing by the piano and taking another drink, someone called to him.
“Hey. Do you know your cock is out and you're flashing the whole fucking bar?!”
The piano player smiled. “Do I know it?! Hell, I wrote it!”
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