(Flirts With The Idea Of Becoming An Indecipherable Heap)

(bang bang bang)
- Who's there, piece of shat.
- Why, it's twenty pipes, ma'am.
- Got me no twenty pies coming, dirty crapper.
- No? Well, it's off, then.
- Well, you can pieup a thishere sleepy twat to theright right overthere there.
- Oooo, do see 'im, fuzzy are nightshade. What of bout face to the left?
- Boxed in flat alright. Wake for years. And now it's soda biscuits up to ceiling.
- Ah, well, it's wood ones, then it's metal ones (harn't hit steam age, but a-bucking-to). (pipes)