Well, if you happen to be at a Pink Floyd concert, during a performance of Learning To Fly, standing next to one of the loudspeakers at the rear of the venue from which this particular passage of dialogue is blaring loud and clear and isolated, with tape recorder in hand, it becomes rather easy to discern what precisely is being said, despite the fact that the man next to you is rambling on through a frightfully long run-on sentence which shows no sign of stopping even though his face is turning blue and he appears perilously close to passing out, which he soon does.

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what do you teach your children about me?
what do you teach your little children about me?
pimp, thug, bling drug lord of the undergrounded kings
how can you be so sure i won't call down the rain?
what do you teach your little children about me?
you point your gun, wait, hide and run. i see it plain