Video and poem: Kill my landlord --> Eddie Murphy reads his character Tyrone Green's prison poem Images

You may or not remember this just bent enough for me Eddie Murphy sketch from SNL --it's hard to believe he was on the show for--what?--five years. I did get to see Eddie Murphy on the show in Studio 8H at a rehearsal Saturday afternoon (I had connections...thank you Cheryl [1]).

Images

by Tyrone Greene

Dark and lonely on the summer night.
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking - Do he bite?
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Slip in his window,
Break his neck!
Then his house
I start to wreck!
Got no reason --
What the heck!
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L ...
My land - lord ...
Def!




[1] Our friend Cheryl Hardwick was the music director of the shows for many years, and played piano in the band. She and Pinky were the catalyst for meeting all sorts of interesting people witnessing a lot of crazy events and situations in the late 70s/esarly 80s. I was introduced to her by her partner, Pinky Rawsthorne, a co-worker of mine, and one of the funniest, and wisest persons I ever met in my life. We met or hung out at various times with all sorts of people in celeb and semi-celeb world: Larraine Newman, Garrett Morris, Gilda Radner, Bill Murray, Bob Cranshaw--the legendary jazzman (who we met a few times at her apartment, but the first time was when he was playing with Woody Shaw at a club in the East Village --but it was close to Broadway...I can't remember if the E. Village technically ends at 3rd or 4th or Broadway?); Lorna Luft; Maria Manville; Howard Shore; and Belushi and Ackroyd (I met Belushi once in the lobby of 30 Rock, when Cheryl came down to let me in...when he walked away, he stiff-armed a bunch of excited-looking kids who wanted to say hi. He looked wrecked--either recovering from a long, brutal night or working on the next one. Within a year or year and a half, he died in Hollywood); sometime not long after that, Cheryl took me downtown (we both lived on the Upper West Side) to the Blues Brothers Bar, a private dive owned/run by Belushi and Ackroyd. That was pretty interesting, mostly for the insane levels of Bolivian Marching Powder that were being consumed at any given moment. She played at a poetry reading Keelin, Nick,. Kevin, Pegeen, and I had in a theatre in Chelsea She brought some upwardly mobile dapper New Yorker poet (but I forget who!), and also got Gerald Stern to attend (he was just getting really hot). At a party at her place, for the publication of Gerald Stern's book The Red Coal, I got to meet Isaac Bashevis Singer (who had recently won the Nobel Prize for Literature, and a passel of NY literary celebs). It was pretty crazy stuff for a cracker kid from a farm town...
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