The origin story of a humble New Yorker much like yourselves

I was born in Queens in forty-six
to a mean old dad and learned real quick
that knives and bricks and stones and sticks
(although they’re good for breaking hips)
are pale beside a well timed quip,
a little snippet of insults dished
’bout wives or looks or nervous tics
and when they call you a bulbous prick
or say you’re pulling dirty tricks,
remind them you’ll wall out the spics—
they’ll clap and cheer and tick, tick, tick,
you’ll scoop the Oval Office quick.