I'm Not The Kind Of Person That

Onstage I've Been Hit By A Grapefruit, Beercans, Eggs, Spit, Money, Cigarette Butts, Mandies, Quaaludes, Joints, Bras, Panties, And A Fist.

Your Skin Starts Itching Once You Buy That Gimmick About Something Called Love.

I Wasn't So Stupid That I Didn't Realize The Implications Of What They Were Saying. In My Live Work I Was Going For The Quick Thrill, Rather Than Spending Time Concentrating On My Voice. I Figured I'd Get On, Make As Many Quick Movement As Possible, Dance My Ass Off For Five Minutes, Move Into The Insult Portion Of The Evening, And Then, At The End, Create Some Kind Of Chaos Until The 55 Minutes Were Up.

And If Somebody's Going To Produce Me, They Should Be Producing My Sound For Me. And That's Something I Have To Come Up With Myself.

I Find It Hard To Focus Looking Forward. So I Look Backward.