Treed Murray2001

KC:
[to Shark] What the f*** is wrong with you? Don't you remember? I watched your back. I saved your ass. Me! I'm the one who's down! I'm f***ing down! You liar!

Murray:
You'd know all about lies, wouldn't you, chump? With your phoney South-Side-Projects accent and your well-rehearsed Homeboy posture. Your prewashed hoodie and your warehouse outlet sneakers. It's all a lie, isn't it? You slipped when you nailed my briefcase as a Ferocco. It's very uptown.

KC:
F*** you!

Murray:
Yep! You're the pretender. Naughty little rich boy, slummin' it with a real down and dirty crowd. A wannabe!

KC:
You don't know what the f***... You don't know what the f*** you're talking about, so just shut the f*** up!

Murray:
I know what I'm talking about, all right. I know you better than you know yourself. I can see right into you because I made you. I dressed you. You reek of every billboard, every magazine cover, every commercial I put out over the last two years. You're a perfect demographic fit. You know, mid-teen, male, upper-middle income, bored, hip-hop listening, underage drinking, pathologically masturbating little consumer. Am I wrong, Shark? Hmm? Ever been to his house? Bet you haven't. No, the ever-enthusiastic KC just kind of shows up from time to time, huh?