Noir caution

I wouldn't fuck with me if 
I were you, if you know 
what I mean.

It's a bad news move.
You get too much on 
your hands that can't fit 
in your mouth, and it 
doesn't come off. Step 
back. Come down 
from the lip
of that cliff you dug 
up in the bottom of an abyss, 
and ask yourself just this:
 
Can I knock it off?
Can I grow up?

Because buddy if you can't,
I don't much like your chances
of me not looking at you in a 
butch, badass way. A stern 
glare, and maybe a stiff sneer
to boot!

If that's what you want, 
hey.

I was born to it. I don't mind 
much. But don't say I didn't
much warn you. I've been
warning you way too long 
by now and frankly, I'm

surprised 

at the straight faces we've kept!
Deadpan surprise. I'm kind of proud
of us both, don't you know? Good job,
but let's just let that part be a little secret
between us shall we? No profit in spreading
that tidbit around dark alleys and gossip halls.
Where was I.

Oh yeah. 

Were you fucking with me?
I couldn't quite tell. Still. I figured
"good advice is good luck" and
not fucking with me is always
a little bit of both. 

If you get my meaning.  

Well! Whether you do or you
don't, good talk. Glad we had it.
Watch your mouth on the way out. 
Don't hit anybody with the door, 
like an ass. 

All equally good advice, pretty 
much! Although watching your 
mouth's a pretty trick unless 
you carry a compact mirror 
around or something. Anyway, 

why would you? I never 
watch mine.