'Hello, Mr. Scott. I agree. And I'll be waiting with the mob when the bastards let the bastards free.
It's nothing but a deal and the real killer lives with the stamp of the legitimate
How far can I spit? How far can I spit?'

And you are not forgiven for what I'm coming to expect from you
And I will not go sniffing around the belly that greases you
We'll drive to the country and I'll scatter your wits about
Among the garbage white trash throws out

'Does it hurt you when I kiss you there?
Does it hurt you when I kick you there'

'Mr. Scott, I am surprised. But I'll be waiting with a bottle and I'll throttle their neck if you bring the cheque.
We won't need a line up and you'll never have to twist my arm or ring my wrist. I know that terrorist. I know that terrorist.'

And you are not forgiven...

'Okay, Mr. Scott. Stop crying and praying and pissing and complaining. I'm not going to stop with the names you're naming.
We both need a secretary sorting through the records and a robe without a tilt to establish the guilt, agreeing to such a degree we can't help but cancel each other out.'

And you are not forgiven... And you are not forgiven...