- published: 23 Dec 2011
- views: 1235
I.A.L. Diamond (June 27, 1920 – April 21, 1988) was a comedy writer in Hollywood from the 1940s through the 1980s.
He was born Iţec (Itzek) Domnici in Ungheni, Iaşi County, Bessarabia, Romania, present day Moldova, was referred to as "Iz" in Hollywood, and was known to quip that his initials stood for "Interscholastic Algebra League".
Diamond emigrated with his family to the Crown Heights area of Brooklyn in the United States at the age of 9. There he studied at the Boy's High School, showing ability in mathematics, competing in the state Mathematics Olympiads in 1936-37, winning several gold medals.
Diamond completed his undergraduate studies at Columbia in 1941. There he studied journalism, publishing in the Columbia Daily Spectator under the pseudonym "I.A.L. Diamond". He was editor of the humor magazine Jester of Columbia, a member of the Philolexian Society, and became the only person to single-handedly write four consecutive productions of the annual revue, the Varsity Show. As a result, upon graduation he abandoned his plans to pursue his master's at Columbia and accepted a short-term contract in Hollywood.
Everything is crisscross patterns turn
Mine on snap when the indo burn
Im livin wreckless. My killa cross over in the (?)
Pushin coke from Fillmore to the projects in Texas
Austin, Bitch yous a hoe what you callin
Smokin indo like a fat rat, Chewy like a Charleston
Charleston chewy no sambooy
Motherfucker what you do like Scooby Doo
Nigga, I see you
I dont trust my lawyer but nigga Ill sue you
Im a diamond in the ruff
I got you with my pistol (?) and nigga yous fucked
Im lookin like a gentleman clean, cut, and handsome
But thinkin like an inmate with life up in Folsom
Stuck up in the game like a suction cup
Dont ask me for shit cuz Im stingy as fuck
My cocaine style got you fiendin for more
Cuz standin in your presence is a real drug lord
My bread; I cant get enough of that cash
So when you talkin about mine motherfucker dont laugh
Im serious. Your breadll disappear in the night
From Oakland to L.A. a raider fan for life
Fours waggin youre laggin. Engine in the back
The queen of the streets yeah bitches still crack
Mind state; but niggas it may be too late
Cuz niggas need a joint just to concentrate
I need money miss me with a muthafuckin pool
Nigga Im comin like a swiss malt liquor
Pool fin to rap with my pearl-tipped razor
Watch me blow up like a dope dealers pager
Bitch dont play youll get read like a chart
And if you wanna fuck a nigga youll get rode like bart
So muthafucker check the ????? alpine
????? the sign that fucked your mind
With a vengeance niggas run like welches in a kitchen
Mothufucka listen to my mercenary mission
Nigga pain, pain, pain
Fuck these records and this motherfuckin fame
I stay awake like an owl, muthafucka, HOO!
Hoes around the way smokin indo too
My cocaine raps they cant get enough
Mr. Jim Jones Im a diamond in the ruff
Get with me. Feelin fifty
But I dont think you motherfuckers hear me; nigga
pop pop pop motherfucker drop x3
pop pop motherfucker you better drop
pop pop pop motherfucker drop x3
pop pop mother fucker you better drop