Puny creatures of blood and flesh. You touch my mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding

Can't think of anything I want dead right now. I'm sure I'll think of somethin', though.

Ortega: What the fuck, Trevor?
Trevor: This is the fuck, my soggy friend! You are out of business. The Lost MC are out of business. The guns and crank in this area go through Trevor Philips Enterprise, or they ain't going!

Send the Tramp Catcher, cosh the old man
Sink him in a barrel of gin
When he's all mixed and the bones turned to jam
We'll raise a glass kindly to him.

A hero need not speak. When he is gone, the world will speak for him.