"That flute sonata is bullshit."
"Motherfucker, lay off the glissando, aight?"
"Get some cello bitches up in here to try it out, because on paper, I'm not feelin' it."
"Here's the thing about writing a real-live chorale: Motherfuckers in the crowd need to know how to motherfuckin' sing."
"I'm on this chromatic shit right now."
"Dude, you might wanna switch to some silent John Cage kinda bizness, because this music thing ain't workin' out for you, yo."
"I'm-a drop this fugue on you assholes."
PREVIOUSLY: If you need to hear what I hear when I say these things to myself, then refresh your Stringer Bell memory.