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Some big ol' bullshit I be spewin' there. I sound like a teenager. I'm past my prime and I'm here tryin' to fit in with the kids. You don't understand that, do you? Of course. You're dense. Hard as a boulder, you motherfucker are [unbent, unbowed, unbroken]. Like a fine diamond, you cut glass and crack me up. Quite a pantheon of principles you've got there, pal. A perfect excuse to run away, to run away...
What am I tryna say? You won't understand me (well, that's fair). 'Cause if you do, we won't be in this stupid, lousy-ass situation trying to figure out what to do or who's got the next move. If you actually understand me, you'd listen to me. If you genuinely do, there wouldn't be seven years in Folsom. Three years in the hole. I get it, McNeil is as tough as they say. But McNeil has zero common sense. McNeil has no passion for anything sane. An this isn't even a feeble attempt at sarcasm, pal, and I'm not mocking you, 𝘱𝘢𝘭. I'm stating the truth. I'm a logician, a damn empath. Listen to me, listen. You're digging your grave, and you're going to make your woman cry. This isn't the time to play the hero or to sentimentalize your 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 life. There's a good way to end this, you know that. But there ain't gonna be any good way to say this:
[Brother,
you're going down.]