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He always say,
'All Italians liars, and liars where go? To Hell, sure. That's where
liars go. That's where Italians go.' Now rich man he say liar to poor
man. But poor man, he better not say liar to rich man. That so,
gentlemens. One day he say liar to nice old Italian. Nice old man
think: 'Ah, you wait, putrid puppy of bastard pig, you wait.' Nice old
man got plenty good lot vineyards back of cliff there. One day he walk
to see grapes. Then he look to end of cliff and see rope hanging. Very
funny, he think. Then he look to end of rope and see nasty-man hanging.
That so, gentlemens. Nasty-man hanging in air. Can't get up. 'Pull me
up,' says he. Nice old man, he laugh--ha, ha, ha! laugh till his belly
hurt. Then he pull out knife and begin to cut rope. 'See knife?' he
shout down. 'How much to pull up?' Five hundred dollar! 'How much?'
Five thousand! 'How much?' Fifty thousand! Nice old man say quite
quiet: 'You no got fifty thousand in the world, you liar. Liars where
go? To Hell, sure. That's where liars go.


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