KISS THE GOAT (the three tirades are all played together over the bossa nova portion, all improvised early in the morning) #1 (screamed through a distorted amplifier) - "TWEE POP NOIZE HELL MOTHERFUCKER!! FUCKING CHAOS!! REAL SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT SHIT!! WAKE UP YOUR PARENTS SHIT!!! -i honestly have no clue what im screaming here- *MANIC LAUGHTER* WHOOOOOOO!!!!" #2 (panning quickly, in a southern drawl) "fuckin' chaos... real second hand embarrassment shit! honestly, real wake up your parents shit. this here is REAL hip hop.... s'real free jazz... 1968 uh... fusion pop! lemme finish .. uh, like fusion pop, industrial breakbeat stuff REAL hard like, vocal swing... s'like vocal bossa nova kinda swing.. with some uh... sludge influence. it's like... i'll tell ya .. its' like... the real..uh..it's like sabbath riffs influenced by the emerson lake and palmer of crunk and uh, little bit uh dream gaze.. uh maybe death gri- DEFINITELY ABSOLUTELY death grip inspired.... GOAT uhh... it's like phillip glass .. but VERY crass. real punk musick for your children." #3 (panning quickly with pitch shift) "Now I actually went to Kendrick Lamar's home. His wonderful beverly hills homestead and i said, i spoke to the man, i said, 'Kendrick! you got a beautiful estate, you look handsome, i think we should collab together on a new hit CD. I think we're gonna make beautiful music together' And, Kendrick lamar does not speak. He speaks through puppets! Kendrick Lamar spoke to me through his puppets. Kendrick Lamar has never kissed a girl, this is insider information, i'll tell ya right now, he's never been kissed... His home has NO toilets in it. I went to Kendrick Lamar's home, tried to find a toilet, and there were NONE. I said, Kendrick! You make such good musick, you're so rich, how can you not own a single lavatory in your whole mansion?"

(spoken directly to them, based around a journal entry, read on the attic floor) hey, hello. it's me, texting you at 2:30 in the morning again. if i was emotionally of physically capable of having the one, there's really not much doubt in my mind that you would've been it.. and i really... and it goes without saying that i didn't want to hurt you. and i just wanted to make something that worked. something we could hold on to. but it turns out ""I"" couldn't. and so here i am again, with more defeatism. and so here i am again, with more self pity, and desperate attempts at rekindling. and i'd say im sorry but, sorry can't really change what i did to you... i'm sorry i like your hair... i like your body... is it hot in here or is it the infidelity? haha

(from "the soft machine", not spoken with enough passion) "You fucking nance!" I screamed. "I'll teach you to savage my bloody meat, i will." And I sloughed him with the iron glove and his face smashed like rotten cantaloupe. Then I hit him in the lungs and blood jumped out his mouth, nose and eyes, spattered three commuters across the room huddled in garbadine topcoats and grey flannel suits under that. The broken fruit was lying with his head damning the piss running over his face and the whole trough a light pink from his blood. I winked at the commuters. "I can smell them fucking queers," I sniffed warningly. "And If there's one thing lower than a nance it's a spot of bloody grass. Now you blokes wouldn't be the type turn around and congor a pal's balls off would you now?" They arranged themselves on the floor like the three monkeys, See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Speak No Evil.

SATAN IS ALIVE AND WELL IN AUSTIN TEXAS