At a bookies.
Pass us the blower, Susi.
-Bookies got blagged last night.
-Blagged? Speak English.

This country spawned the language,
and nobody seems to speak it.

Blagged, robbed.
We'll see a man
that may know something.

l need a gun.
You don't, Rosebud, me old son.
You need me.

l got fucking black ink all
over fuck boy.

He's stained for fucking life.
That and the golden teeth as well.
Fucking hell--

All right, Mullet?
How you doing?
You all right, mate?

Nice tie.
l heard you weren't about that much.
Still warm, the blood
that courses through my veins.

Unlike yours, Mullet.
Who blagged Brick Top's bookies?
-Do me a favour, Tone.
-l will do you a favour, Mullet.

l'll not bash the fuck out of you
in front of all your girlfriends.

Gonna make it worth my while, mate?
Jesus, you know how it is, man.

Comfortable, Mullet?
lt's sadly ironic it's that tie
that's got you into this pickle.

Now, you take all
the time you want, mate.

What the fuck you doing, Tone?
Driving down the street
with your head in my window.

-What you think l'm doing?
-Well, don't, Tone.

You been using dog shit
for toothpaste?

Slow down, Tone.
Slow down, Tony!
l don't think so.
l think l'll speed up.

Play some music if you like.
l love this track.
l want to know who blagged
Brick Top's bookies.

Yes, Mullet?
l think it's two black guys that work
from a pawn shop in Smith Street.

Better not be telling me porky pies.
l tell you, it's two black guys work
out of a pawnshop on Smith Street.