Original subtitles

anoXmous

https://thepiratebay.se/user/Zen_Bud

What did you know about me, Bullock, first we met?

No concern for my feelings, huh?

That you were a killer.

Certain facts show in the mug.

Look at her.

You know she's fucked for food.

- What's the point? - In your mug there is no such history.

Are you a cunt-driven near-maniac

or a stalwart, driven by principle?

The many cannot tell, for you yourself are so fucking confused.

But you do make a good appearance,

so they're prone to grant you their trust,

which we will use as an asset in the coming campaign.

What's the campaign?

You have friends in Montana in high positions, some type fucking judge?

Seth: I've cut ties with the judge in Montana.

Al: Amiably or owing money?

Maybe you're mistrusted less as a killer

than showing your cards a corner at a time.

Our cause is surviving,

not being allied with Yankton or cogs in the Hearst machine,

to show it don't fate us as runts

or two-headed calves or pigs with excess legs

to a good fucking grinding up.

I only mention the judge in Montana toward maybe drumming up interest in us there.

Annexation to Montana instead of Dakota?

Hiking our skirts to Helena might put Yankton back on its heels.

And as minutes turn to hours over the piss-pot,

I wonder should we ruminate publicly

in loud voices over forming a new territory

with an eye towards future statehood, or even our own republic?

- No dictatorship? - What the fuck do we need a dictatorship for

that silences the public voice, that eases the enemy's way?

Noise made, overtures to outside interests

and enlistment of the hooples' participation is what this situation demands.

And a trustworthy mug with a vague motive

out there, bugling the call.

I'm not interested.

Our moment permits interest in one question only:

will we of Deadwood

be more than targets for ass-fucking?

To not grab ankle is to declare yourself interested.

What's your posture, Bullock?

As you see.

Huzzah then.

Wolcott's voice: "The operations of the old Aurora and Keets mines

and a number of smaller adjoining claims are now entirely consolidated,

accessed through the former Hidden Treasure property.

Anxious as I know you to be, Mr. Hearst,

to move to 24-hour operation,

until workers at wage outnumber individual prospectors in the camp,

the matter of Chinese labor remains delicate of introduction.

And we must therefore rest content with Germans

and Cornish unwilling to work at night.

We shower them after every shift,

and the gold they've combed into their hair with grease,

we recover from the traps installed beneath the wash-house facility.

The Cornish are quicker than the Germans, but ever ready

to combine and complain, and deserve their reputation as high-graders,

- which, if anything, is understated." - Get down!

"Through the vigilance of our security fellows,

the unremitting larceny of these cunning and clannish men is held somewhat in check.

I cite in particular the effectiveness of Captain Turner,

invaluable to us since the Comstock."

- Watch it! - (yelling in German)

"With purchase of the claim formerly operated by the Manuel brothers,

we will control save one-- the Garret property--

- every considerable deposit now discovered." - Get back in line!

"I am told your arrival is imminent, Mr. Hearst.

I look forward to showing you every aspect of what I believe

soon may be truthfully described

as the largest and most forward-looking gold operation in the world.

Francis Wolcott."

No one is with child. Tessie may have clap.

We'll take her off the firing line then.

With whatever intervening supervision,

I take it these new-arrived Chinese whores

to be under your control.

Well-evaluated, Doc.

I'd be available to see to their care like I do these here.

Declined with thanks.

You may not be aware that beyond their afflictions,

these girls are fucking starving to death.

I ain't one, Doc, holds the white man's as the sole and only path.

I strive to tolerate what I may not agree with.

But those people's culture,

their women are disposable.

They ship them unfed, replace them when they expire.

They dose them with opium, I know,

which I gather eases their pangs.

Well... under this arrangement,

I'll withdraw my care for your whites.

For Christ's sake, Doc!

No, I need to live too!

Raise your rates on these then.

Don't disrupt the other fucking equilibrium.

I would see to those others pro bono.

I know what that means.

Prove to me you do.

It won't cost you anything.

Well, Jesus Christ.

Here, too, let me tolerate a different point of view.

Studying on a getaway, Tom?

Ain't she a beauty, Al?

Uh, in the French it's called a velocipede,

meaning "go swiftly into the world."

This is the gent's Boneshaker model,

and the French can stay the fuck out of it.

How's that for a contraption, boss?

Summon from Farnum

that cunt with the long Kraut moniker.

EB ain't been over for coffee.

Should I ask if Farnum's come for coffee

before I get you to summon that cunt?

Dead and without a body,

you still outstrip him for intelligence.

Would you please know Mr. AW Merrick?

- I'm AW Merrick. - Good.

I'm Blazanov,

agent for Cheyenne and Black Hills Telegraph Company.

- Welcome, Mr. Blazanov. - Thank you.

Can you show me immediately to my apparatus?

Our long-anticipated telegraph operator.

Your company, having leased space for you in my office,

your apparatus, sir, is next to mine,

and I will show it to you with pleasure. This way.

Has my apparatus-- thank you--

been guarded from interference?

In candor, Mr. Blazanov, some nights more successfully than others.

There's a fucking pair to draw to.

I hope the electrical fluid has not blistered

with fierce voltage someone foolish to ground its potential.

I'm not aware of any blistering.

And my hopes in that regard may be different from yours.

Did you see my bicycle, young man?

They call that type boneshaking, sir.

They do, for a mortal truth. (laughs)

Ellsworth: Look at it this way then.

Mightn't the Lord give second chances?

Not on merit, necessarily.

I ain't claiming that.

Say He does it on whim-- on any basis.

And here she comes with that little one beside her

and another she fixes to produce.

And keenness to my shortcomings

don't blind me to seeing a-right

that when a boulder needs hauling, I will haul a boulder--

which is asset to a woman with a child in her care

and another she readies to deliver.

Now what harm is there in believing

that not taking the chance might be a confounding of His will?

Hmm?

I'm taking that silence for fucking support.

Mrs. Bullock.

Thank you so much for seeing us.

Good morning, William.

Good morning, Mrs. Garret.

- Please, come in. - Thank you.

William: It smells awful nice in here.

We had berry tea before Sofia's lesson.

Will you have some?

Please, if it's not a trouble.

I don't want any, thank you.

I didn't know the smell was from tea.

Will you show William your corner in our other room, Sofia?

Not your toys. Show him only your books.

William: Thank you.

And thank you for the candy when I first got to camp.

Please, forgive the suddenness of my coming.

Not at all, Mrs. Bullock.

I feel an urgency about the matter which brings me.

Please tell me what it is.

You know that Miss Stokes, the teacher for whom we had waited so long--

Has fled.

- Yes. - (laughs)

A great disappointment to me, as I'm sure it was to you.

I hope I'm... adequate

to guiding my son's studies. I believe I am.

But a child in solitude cannot find his gift for society.

What do you propose?

That I teach the camp's children.

(sighs)

The water is usually brought from the kitchen,

already at a boil.

- Please don't bother with the tea. - It's no bother.

It would hardly be a bother, if I were only properly prepared.

On a second opportunity with adequate notification,

we will meet you in order and readiness.

I seem always to come upon you with inadequate notice.

As you remarked,

simple courtesy would forestall that.

I'm trying to imagine what courtesy of mine

would have forestalled the last awkwardness between us.

Do you wish then to take Sofia under your care as well?

As well as whom, Mrs. Garret?

Why, Mrs. Bullock, as well as your son.

Whom else would I mean?

- Good morning. - Good morning, Mr. Swearengen.

Excuse me-- change of light.

Pupils slow adjusting-- hope that don't owe to morphine.

- No. - Anyhow,

thanks for brushing against my prick.

May I sit down?

- Too early for you? - I don't time my drinking.

Dan!

50,000, now to me.

Mr. Dority signs for the murder of Brom Garret

on my orders as commissioned by his faithless wife.

Second document, signed by you, detailing that during transport to New York

for trial along with faithless wife, Dority escapes custody.

50 now to me, 10 now you to Dority,

10 now you to Adams.

Agreed, with these amendments:

25 to you on signatures;

on Dority's safe return following his escape,

and by your giving over the document

signed by me to an agent designated by Pinkerton

or burning it in the agent's presence,

the second 25.

Agreed.

- Will you draft Dority's confession? - I'll draft both fucking documents.

Now would you find your own way out

while I explain myself to the guilty party?

You wanna brush agin my prick?

Got a good fucking head on her shoulders,

unlike some other parties in this room.

Man: That's some kind of contraption he's got there.

Do you suppose had the inventor moved among us,

he'd have made a model more suited to sinkholes?

Oh, guided and pedaled a-right,

she'll roll smooth as a ball on a green.

Ahhh! Yours ain't the fucking hands or the fucking feet.

So this is the famous place of death.

At that very table, Mr. Blazanov,

Wild Bill Hickok was shot.

I've read the account, perhaps from your hand?

My bicycle masters boardwalk and quagmire with aplomb.

Those that doubt me suck cock by choice.

Does that signal a willingness to wager?

You're goddamn right,

in specie or fucking currency.

Surely odds must differ between quagmire and boardwalk.

I don't speak of the quagmire lengthwise.

Well, shall quagmire be the Bella Union gap of the main thoroughfare?

- Done. - Eight to one odds on the quagmire.

I shall swoop across it.

Uh-- eight to one taken to 100.

Even money on the boardwalk.

Done! Taken to 100.

Loose boards to be nailed, commerce suspended,

animals, drunks and sundries cleared from my lane of passage.

- Done. - May I have time to ready my camera?

- Uh, get going. - I'll make fresh plates and new stop-bath.

- Whatever the fuck that means. - Come, Mr. Blazanov.

- What has just happened? - Come come come.

Those who doubt me suck cock by choice.

(laughing)

I'll bet $6.00 he don't make it down the boardwalk!

I had time

only to make cold meat sandwiches after seeing Mrs. Garret.

Fine.

There's cold cider in the cellar.

I'll get it.

She thought it wonderful that I should teach the camp's children.

- Good. - Wonderful.

That poor woman...

husband killed, left alone.

Any person would have found her situation sympathetic,

let alone someone of your instincts.

(sniffing)

Mr. Nuttall has received a bicycle.

Has he?

William was very excited to see it.

Good.

Your food is ready.

He's out back waiting.

William is.

(Jane coughing, retching)

That's mighty good for business.

Shut up!

There's a girl sitting by herself

in that whorehouse--

Joanie Stubbs.

Next you see her, give her my congratulations.

Seeing you know about losing friends,

you might be a good person to go on and talk to her.

How does standing in my own puke

prompt you to volunteer me to give a condolence call?

Why fucking wouldn't it, Jane?

You like being situated how you are?

What fucking friends did she lose anyway?

How are Martha and William?

Well.

What would you think of Marcus's lot, Seth,

as location for the bank?

I could see arguments in favor.

He's going back to Bismarck.

Asking 14,000,

10 of which he'd carry at 1% a month, which I find reasonable.

Obviously the location is its great virtue.

Under all the circumstances, I disagree.

- Too central? - Not too central, no.

I'm thinking more the chief backer might find unpleasant

- this building being always in her view. - I see.

Anything further you need explained chapter and verse?

I hadn't understood the matter continued so tender.

It ain't tenderness, avoiding provocation.

It's common fucking courtesy.

Which neither of you's showing fucking much toward me.

Sol: It's over.

It's finished!

Cy: You've got the worst brother-- Mose.

As ugly as he is, that miserable a disposition.

Mr. Manuel, how are you, sir?

Fuck you, Tolliver,

your crooked games and your watered-down liquor.

Francis Wolcott, Mr. Manuel.

- Thank you for coming. - State your business.

An admirable rigor in manner.

Would you join me, please?

- (coin clinks) - (Wolcott sighs)

Do I guess rightly, sir,

that you and your brother do not deal happily with groups of men?

- Nor each other. - Yet you have made a rich find

and have done very well in beginning its development.

State your business.

Further development may require organization

on a scale and dealings with men

to which you and your brother are not suited, or not disposed to attempt.

With thieving bastard Cornishmen, you mean.

Underground in the shafts, high-graders, every one of them.

The interests I represent have learned to deal effectively over the years

with high-grading and other forms of theft by employees.

You ain't learned no effective method

when it's my brother going against you.

Against us in what sense?

In all five fucking senses.

More reason you and he might sever connections toward taking separate paths.

I'm sitting here, ain't I?

We would offer 200,000

for an undivided ownership on your claim.

We'd both have to fucking sell?

I'd presume your brother has stays and encumbrances

on your right to separate sale.

He's encumbered every fucking breath I've ever fucking taken.

200,000?

Would it expedite matters if I made our case to your brother?

I'll make the fucking case,

once I find the saloon he's in.

He should understand that our patience is not inexhaustible.

- Did I say I thought that? - No.

- Don't tell me how to talk to my brother! - Certainly not.

- Unless you're trying to fucking irritate me!

- Opposite of my intention.

200,000?

Cash.

Mrs. Garret.

Why do you linger?

The stages are frequent,

and you're past your stated purpose. Have you another?

Please, Mrs. Garret, do come in.

Do you believe I do?

My beliefs about you have to do with your soul,

which I feel is cold and ungenerous,

unless you are a counterfeit.

And if you are a counterfeit, the deception comes so naturally,

I'd credit its source in such a soul.

Meaning cold and ungenerous,

and as capable of counterfeit--

manipulative and treacherous as well.

Who can you think I am, Mrs. Garret?

I, a poor working girl?

You are not.

I only hope your high wroth, ma'am, don't bespeak some affair gone amiss...

I hope to Christ not involving Mr. Bullock.

Even under such duress,

you oughtn't presume to strike me.

For who do you take me then?

For who do you mistake me?

I mistake you for no one, Miss Isringhausen,

and I know you for a fact.

All right then, Mrs. Garret.

You've had your fit of temper. Get the fuck back to your room.

How's his toothache?

I ain't requiring about his toothache, Richardson.

And you oughtn't be requiring about his toothache either.

You ought to be hoping that His Nibs will be sleeping,

so we can both sneak away and go watch the ride.

What are you-- what are you--?

You stupid--

- Mr. Farnum, are you in there? - (gagging)

I need your permission, Mr. Farnum.

I'm coming in.

- (choking) - What's killing you?

(muffled screaming)

What's afflicting you?

Stop it!

For God's sake, get away from me!

I put clove-soaked cloth to my tooth.

I must have gagged on it-- (snorts)

- when I was napping. - Are you saved, sir?

Your filthy hand was down my throat!

May I go out to watch the bicycle?

Watch the earth yielding up its dead,

so long as it's not near me.

And never violate my private office again!

That cocksucker.

Al: What do you think of that, Chief?

Some kind of fucking division of feeling or something?

Yeah!?

If I'm overstepping, boss, I apologize.

I'm waiting.

Sometimes I hear you speaking in here

when I know there's nobody in here but you.

You have not yet reached the age, Dan, have you,

where you're moved to utterance of thoughts properly kept silent?

- Been known to mutter. - Not the odd mutter.

Habitual fucking vocalizing of thoughts best kept to yourself.

I will confide further.

Lately...

I talk to this package.

The severed rotting head

I paid bounty on last year of that murdered fucking Indian.

Well, anyways, it's the late shift.

You subscribe one way or another to Tom Nuttall's big ride?

No. I'm-- I don't see him making it,

but I didn't want to root agin him.

The Indian got an opinion?

Don't the decapitated deserve recreation, Chief?

As much, if not more so, than those of us yet not dismembered.

Whew.

You, fucking Chief,

are uglier than before,

when you were also not a treat to the eyes.

Oh!

Suffer the low vantage.

(clears throat) It's better for my standing in the camp.

Tom: That is a lay-down you propose!

Corruption won't never breathe stinky on my bicycle!

Sent many of your friends to the Happy Hunting Ground--

formidable Tom was, and no more a fool now than time shows us all.

Using the smallest possible aperture, Mr. Blazanov,

and the fastest shutter speed,

our endeavor is to capture Mr. Nuttall's attempt

in all its vigor and velocity.

Mose: We gotta sell this claim, Charlie.

Why?

'Cause if we don't, we're gonna fuck it up.

Speak for yourself.

Man: He's gonna start!

Speaking for myself,

if we don't sell, you're gonna fuck it up.

- Speak for yourself. - (pistol cocks)

(guns fire)

(Al whispers) Come on, Tom.

(flash pops)

Go on, my son!

(cheering)

He made it, Chief.

My brother had an accident.

What's his condition now?

Fatal. Dead.

Fatal gunshot.

So, an accident...

handling his weapon.

A self-inflicted wound.

Fucking stupid,

showing off when he's been fucking drinking.

Or a stupid fucking trick--

more than one fucking time he'd do that.

For Christ's sake.

Are there other kin, Mr. Manuel?

There's just us.

- Mother and father dead, no siblings-- - What did I just fucking say to you?

Do you accept our offer as your brother's sole heir and agent of your own interests?

200,000.

Cash upon execution.

We already executed.

Jane: Jane Cannary!

Jane Cannary coming in.

- Hello! - (sighs) We're closed.

I ain't here for any funny business.

My name's Jane Cannary.

You and me got a pain-in-the-balls mutual acquaintance--

Charlie fucking Utter.

How do you do, Jane?

Joanie Stubbs.

Would you like a-- a drink?

Yes!

But my opening position is no.

I'm having a drink, Jane.

I'll probably join you directly.

Charlie says you lost your friends.

Yes.

Uh... I don't guess it was plague.

No.

Fucking violence, probably.

(sighs)

I worked a plague tent last year.

People... spoke of the good you did.

Some left the tent upright.

Maybe I will have a fucking drink,

just for sociability's sake

and 'cause I'm a fucking drunk.

Well, what's your preference?

That it ain't been previously swallowed.

Bourbon if you got it.

Bourbon from Kentucky.

I should certainly fucking hope so.

Thank you.

Murdered?

Your friends?

It's best probably not to talk about it.

If we held to that rule,

we'd be mute like monks

months at a fucking time.

Three of them were murdered.

The others shooed from camp so they wouldn't be.

I heard of a beating Charlie Utter

dispensed to some cocksucker yesterday.

I wonder if that's connected.

I wouldn't be surprised.

Yes.

Does he pose a further danger to you,

the cocksucker? That's what got you sitting in the dark?

Sitting counting as waiting?

(stammering) Oh-- I--

I will say that's an attitude fit for darkness...

not knowing what else to say,

or pretending that it ain't familiar.

Anyways, I'm-- fuck.

I'm pleased to meet you, pleased to meet you.

Pleased to meet you, Jane.

All right.

- Thank you for coming by. - Mm-hmm.

Don't you want your drink?

I guess I'll leave it.

(snickers)

Refined spirits will sometimes convulse me.

(door opens, closes)

Mr. Ellsworth.

I was hoping for a word.

As many as you'd like.

Is your purpose clandestine?

Private, as far as that goes.

Sofia's taking her nap.

Let me get you a better chair.

Oh, would it speak ill of me that I'm--

comfortable here?

The other morning, you was indisposed.

I regret having imposed that on your attention.

I had a wife

took by typhus

and our baby girl.

- I'm so sorry, Mr. Ellsworth. - Oh, thank you.

Anyways, I'm acquainted with certain...

experiences.

Throwing-up mornings, as an example.

I see.

And I'd say--

not claiming credentials for raising a family,

as my time with them was brief,

but I'd hope it'd testify to willingness

as a candidate for marriage

and so forth...

offering myself.

Completing the sorry presentation.

I'm deeply grateful

for your proposal.

May I ask a brief interval before giving you my answer?

Long as you like.

It will give me time to get up.

I'll ask a little longer than that,

and some solitude.

Mmm. Of course.

Thank you very much,

Mr. Ellsworth.

Yes, ma'am.

Is the boy warm enough?

Martha: Yes, thank you.

This roof over our heads, Mr. Bullock,

testifies to your care for William and me.

The fostering affection and guidance you show my son

to shape him into a man

will only deepen my gratitude to you.

As for myself...

no further demonstrations are necessary

as...

other duties claim your attentions.

None such as you conceive since your arrival,

nor will they again, whatever the state of our relations.

Do not sacrifice further on my account, Mr. Bullock.

I reject the offering.

I repudiate it.

I find it poisonous.

(poker clangs)

Aha. Not the eyesore of my previous visit, huh?

Ah, Al, welcome. Yes yes.

Tidied and reconstituted,

prompted in no small measure, I might add,

by your very much appreciated exhortation.

I just jotted a few fucking thoughts down for your perusal.

In what regard?

Well, peruse it and you'll fucking find out.

What the fuck is this?

Uh, that is a telegraph apparatus,

whose operator, Mr. Blazanov, presently is taking the air.

"Sheriff Bullock would not confirm having met

with representatives from the Montana Territory

to discuss their offer of annexation."

Is this true, Al?

Did he fucking confirm it to you?

I haven't spoken to Bullock.

So then I guess it ain't confirmed.

Answer me this fucking question:

why in fuck do I find out

about this telegraph operator arriving tardily and by accident?

I wasn't aware that you were owed official notification.

Merrick, you and me are allies,

marching into battle together,

and aren't smart-assed replies amongst allies

a waste of fucking time?

Uh... allies? Marching?

Allies marching is exactly fucking right.

And this operator hitting camp is big.

The main dereliction is Farnum's

whose bailiwick specifically is new arrivals,

but you have also been fucking remiss.

What battle are we marching toward in formation of some sort, Al?

- (door opens) - I purchased the sleeping equipment.

AW: Mr. Blazanov, Mr. Swearengen.

How do you do, Mr. Swearengen?

All right, Blazanov. That's some pronounced fucking accent you've got.

I am Russian.

Now you could have waited saying that before I was fucking seated, huh?

(laughs)

Mr. Swearengen was keenly interested to hear

that you're the camp's telegraph operator.

How do you do?

Oh, no no no. How do you do?

You are the master of the fucking secret code

and all the other fucking secret things, isn't that right?

- Not so secret. - No, that's some fucking skill.

I'm sure people are trying to bribe you right and left, huh?

No no, I'm not allowed.

Oh, nor am I, no.

None of us are. We are, every one, strictly forbade.

That's the fucking beauty of it all, huh?

I think I haven't enough English for you, Mr. Swearengen.

Bullshit. You have the perfect exact fucking amount.

My only question for you, young man,

is your feelings on your prick being sucked constantly

- and without charge, yeah? - (laughing)

Whoa!

AW: And thus you encounter

one of our wonderful meaningless American traditions,

Mr. Blazanov, the tall-tale conversation,

and-and tales and good nature.

- Blazanov: Hmm. - The Gem, Blazanov, my saloon.

Very convenient to your place of business, huh?

Via private walkway, which I will employ as we speak,

or by the public thoroughfare.

Visit and you will experience a tradition...

only used in this camp or my place

by newly-arrived telegraph operators fucking free,

be their preference of tale tall or fucking otherwise.

And by all means--

(mimics accent) welcome to America.

Evening, Bill.

Jane ain't with me, 'cause she's a drunken fucking mess

and I don't know what to do about it.

I know you want her looked out for,

and I'm doing my fucking best.

But I won't stand before you claiming optimism.

Other news...

that letter you wrote your wife just before that cocksucker murdered you,

it come to my hand.

I won't even try explaining fucking how.

And knowing what we know about our fucked up postal system,

I ain't committing it to the fucking mails.

You know I will try to get it to her,

which I pray'd be a portion off your mind.

When I've found where she's at,

on my way setting off I'll tell you.

All right.

God bless you, Bill.

And as far as Jane, drunk as you've seen her,

you've never seen her this worse.

Between us, maybe having lost wanting to keep on.

So I don't know what the fuck to do!

But you know I-- I'll keep trying.

Is this adequate, Mr. Manuel?

Your brother's mortal remains are housed inside

under the care of Mr. Lee.

Doc: Do you speak Chinese?

Wolcott: I do not, sir.

However you accomplish communication with that son of a bitch,

then the more the disgrace to your soul!

Wolcott: Are we through here?

Can we finally complete our transaction?

It fucking happens the fucking gun he was cleaning

- when he shot himself was mine. - Is that so?

And I'm asking to know if a person of the mind

to blame me will have a way to recover the fucking bullet?

I expect not, Mr. Manuel,

or that other than yours, any such mind is in the camp,

and suggest you think of other things, like the money

that Mr. Tolliver's waiting to present to you at the Bella Union.

That easy...

to forget a fucking brother!?

Money has properties in this regard!

Though no remedy is discovered yet

sovereign against sentimental remorse.

(shouts) Close your eyes!

(knocks at door)

It's open.

Do what you came to.

I don't know what I came to do.

Is it easier saying that?

The other nights I've known.

You're supposed to look out for that madam,

fucking asleep at the switch.

Where's fucking Charlie to piss in my ear when he's fucking needed?

Basil Hayden bourbon,

you were waiting for me.

No, my friend Jane left that.

(groans)

- And you leave me alone! - (door slams)

And I got a fucking gun in here too!

And get the fuck out!

And lock the front fucking door!

(door closes)

Are you the fucking cocksucker?

I may well be.

Did you just kill that girl in the Chez Amis?

I did not. That girl in the Chez Amis is well.

- Whose blood's on your fucking mug? - My own.

My name is Francis Wolcott.

If you find me untrue in any particular,

I stay at the Grand Central Hotel.

Who runs that joint?

A grotesque named Farnum.

You ain't lied so far.

(country-folk music playing)

♪ Rattlesnake, oh, rattlesnake ♪

♪ What makes your teeth so white? ♪

♪ I've been living in the bottom all my life ♪

♪ I ain't done nothing but bite ♪

♪ Well, I ain't done nothing but bite ♪

♪ Muskrat, oh, muskrat ♪

♪ What makes you smell so bad? ♪

♪ I've been living in the bottom all my life ♪

♪ I'm mortified in my head, well, I'm mortified in my head ♪

♪ Groundhog, oh, groundhog ♪

♪ What makes your back so brown? ♪

♪ It's a wonder I don't smotherfy from living down in the ground ♪

♪ Oh, from living down in the ground ♪

♪ Jaybird, oh, jaybird ♪

♪ What makes you fly so high? ♪

♪ I've been a-robbing your corn patch all my life ♪

♪ It's a wonder if I don't die, it's a wonder if I don't die ♪

♪ Rattlesnake, oh, rattlesnake ♪

♪ What makes your teeth so white? ♪

♪ I've been living in the bottom all my life ♪

♪ I ain't done nothing but bite ♪

♪ I ain't done nothing but bite, yeah. ♪