Johnny and Pablo in a Pinto down a dusty road
in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.
Don’t try to find it.
They don’t like to be found.
The pair screech to a stop
in the one-horse town
and saunter into the bar
which actually fronts a sizable meth-operation
– so maybe it’s a twelve horse town, after all –
and Pablo says, “We’d like the receipts.”
The bartender wonders what’s going on,
so Johnny clarifies.
“The money, man. Give us the money.
He pulls out a gun to show he means business.

Strangely, this huge drug business is unprepared
for the takedown, and the duo get away
with a small fortune.
They cackle as they ride off into the sunset.
Lennon and Picasso have done it again!

Good artists borrow; great artists steal.
Good artists borrow; great artists steal.
It’s well past time that you know the deal, that
good artists borrow; great artists steal.

They’re off to the next appointment in Pittsburgh
to the Warhol Museum for the heist of a career
– or for them, a day in the life.
“How long?” Johnny asks.
Concentrating, Pablo says nothing. Still a few miles to go.
They’re gonna rob the place blind.
When they arrive, they stake the joint for a few minutes,
see if everything looks right.
According to plan, they’ll be in and out in seconds,
then be gone like a cool breeze.
“You ready for this?” Pablo checks in.
“You know it, bro,” says the Beatle. “Hey,” he volunteers,
“I wanted to check: Do you mind if I call you Paul?”
Pablo replies, “Yes.”

Without a hitch, Andy’s place is cleared out, too.
Nothing can stop this Titanic Two. Whoo, these guys are good.
Hope they keep clear of your neighborhood, because I hope you know
that it’s understood that

Good artists borrow; great artists steal.
Good artists borrow; great artists steal.
You may not believe how it’s completely real, but
good artists borrow; great artists steal.

Alas, all good things come to an end
and our amazing geniuses find themselves with their backs
up against a wall against the militia of a powerful nation
who are prepared to take them down – by any means necessary.
“I will not live caged,” explains the elder Mister P.
“I’ve been in a cage all me bloody life,” Senor L responds,
“but I get your point. They won’t take us alive.”

The music swells and they note the cliff behind them as they enter the Pinto
and suddenly they note the coincidental similarities between this
and other buddy tales like Butch and Sundance
and Thelma and Louise and then they realize how
unpronounced either of their accents are,
and that their independent time periods are totally anachronistic.

“Does… does this work out… at all?” Johnny asks.
Pablo looks deep into Johnny’s eyes.
“Everything works out… in Pennsylvania-town.”
and then he guns the car and over the cliff they go.

Good artists borrow; great artists steal.
Good artists borrow; great artists steal.
You may find the sequel more ideal, wherein more
good artists borrow; great artists steal.