I always tried to give the audience what they wanted and in return they made me ridiculously stinking f*****g rich. Now, you might want to hate me for that, but before you do, remember this, you jealous prick. I earned my right to be hated.
Rock and roll, man. Like the first time you heard it. It’s fast, it’s dirty, it smashes you over the head.
It’s all about the songs, guys. Can you hum it? Will you remember it tomorrow? Does it make you want to call the radio station and find out who the band they just played was? Think back. Think back to the first time you heard a song that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Made you want to dance or f*** or go out and kick somebody’s ass. That’s what I want.
So this is my story clouded by lost brain cells, self-aggrandizement, and maybe a little bull****, but how could it not be, this f*****g life? Hey, you know what? Let me just shut up, put the record on for you, drop the needle, and crank up the f*****g volume.
No one wants to make girls A&R reps because A&R reps give direction and criticism, which is almost impossible to do with a c*ck in your mouth.