All language subtitles for The.Gentlemen.2019.WEB-DL.KP.1080p-SOFCJ

Give me 10 minutes, Ray,

Boss.

-Bobby.
-Boss?

I'll have a pint
and a pickled egg.

Coming straight up.

If you wish to be
the king of the jungle,

it's not enough
to act like a king.

You must be a king.

There can be no doubt.

Because doubt causes chaos
and one's own demise.

Hello, my love.

It's date night tonight, 9:00,
you and I, River Cafe.

Nine o'clock. I'll be there--

-We're closed.
-Who's there?

Hang the fucking phone up.

Ros, who's there?

♪ Kiss me, mama X

♪ Kiss your boy ♪

♪ Bless me well n' lucky a'

♪ For I won't be back
Till I return a'

♪ I'm gone to old Kentucky a'

♪ Cumberland gap
It's a devil of a gap a'

♪ That's what the scouts
All tell ya a'

♪ Sure enough
It may get tough a'

.I' If it doesn't kill ya
Kill ya ♪

♪ Kentucky, she's a-waiting
On the other side a'

♪ Give you the fever a'

♪ Put the daylight
In your eyes a'

♪ Brother John's already gone a'

♪ With the full-blood
Cherokee maiden a'

♪ He made the trip
In the blizzard's grip a'

♪ I'd rather wrestle Satan a'

♪ Cumberland gap
It's a devil of a gap a'

♪ Oh, the snow kept coming a'

♪ Picked her up upon his back a'

♪ By God
He loved that woman a'

♪ Daniel stood
On the pinnacle rock a'

♪ Lookin' up and down
The mountain a'

♪ Took his trusty
Old flintlock a'

♪ Daniel started shoutin'
Shoutin' a'

♪ Kentucky, she's a-waiting
On the other side a'

♪ Give you the fever a'

♪ Put the daylight
In your eyes a'

♪ Cumberland gap
It's a devil of a gap a'

♪ Cumberland gap
It's a devil of a gap a'

♪ Cumberland gap
It's a devil of a gap a'

♪ Cumberland gap
It's a devil of a gap a'

Chink, chink.

-Fletcher.
-Buenas tardes, Raymondo.

I should stab you
with that fucking rolling pin.

Oh, don't be cunty.

I was just hoping we could have
a cozy little drink together.

So I've got a meeting
on Saturday

at your favorite newspaper.

As the best private investigator
in this smoky little town--

Good evening,
ladies and gentlemen--

They are ready to put
150 grand in my pocket

to give 'em some filth.
Good for me, that.

But in this case...
it's bad for you.

So Big Dave,
editor extraordinaire,

has developed a terrible antipathy

for your boss and his liquorish
assortment of tasty mates.

He's out to destroy him and
all those that cozy up to him.

Front cover. Bosh!

There will be blood and fucking
feathers everywhere, darling.

Get to it, Fletcher.
I'm starting to itch.

Now, we both know that your boss
has very, very deep pockets,

and I would like to invite him

just to have
a teeny rummage in them.

What the fuck
are you talking about?

If he would be so kind
as to furnish me

with 20 million British pounds,
I will give you everything:

memory cards, contact sheets,
recordings, the lot...

and a modest little screenplay
I wrote all by myself.

Hold on.

We just went from 150,000
pounds to 20 million.

That's a steep rise
in 30 seconds.

I would argue that
you're lucky.

That is nothing compared
to what I could

and perhaps should
be asking.

Oh, well, thank God
you're not greedy, Fletcher.

You deluded,
shit-eating cunt.

I quite like it
when you talk dirty to me.

I can feel myself engorging.

Come on, have a drink with me.
It's really yummy.

I looked it up. "App-ed" it.
1500 quid?

I didn't know you could spend
that much on a bottle of Scotch.

I'm gonna tell you a story
to demonstrate

why my quote is my quote.

Will you play
a game with me, Ray?

I don't wanna play a game.

-Please.
-No.

I said, play a fucking game
with me, Ray.

-Right.
-Lovely!

Now, I want you to imagine
a character,

a dramatic character like
in a book or a play or a film,

but not digital,
not on a memory stick...

Analogue, chemical process.
Keep the grain in the picture, I say.

Old-school 35 mill.

I'm seeing this
through a lens.

I'm not talking about
the small screen.

It's not TV, Raymond.

As I said,
old-school cinema format.

It's what we called anamorphic
or ratio 2.35-to-1.

And I want you to join me
on this cinematic journey,

because it is cinema, Ray.

It's beautiful,
beautiful cinema.

Now...roll camera.

Enter our protagonist.

He's good-looking.
He's gorgeous.

He's golden age.
He's a proper handsome cunt.

His name is Mickey Pearson.

Unique background
has our Mickey.

American born,
Rhodes Scholar...

So he's born clever but poor.

Now, that's quite a leap from
a trailer park in Americana

to the thousand-year-old
university in old Angleterre-a,

where he studies the dark art
of horticulture.

But he finished his education,
never went home

because he found
his vocation.

A naughty vocation.
He's a bad boy.

He starts dealing
the dirty wonder weed

to his rich, British,
upper-class uni pals.

He realizes
he's rather good at it.

He's clear and objective
about ambition.

And he can surf the echelons
of our complicated culture.

He knew how to take advantage
of his advantage.

He was a hungry animal,
you see.

He was powerful
and ruthless,

cunning and quick,
charismatic and smart.

But he had to do some naughty
things to get where he got,

to establish his position,

to show he wasn't just
teeth, tits and tan.

Well, he wasn't
fucking hollow, was he?

No, he had an engine
under his hood.

And a gun in his holster.

So he's not exactly clean,
our Mickey.

He has come up the hard way.

He's earned his position,
shall we say.

Well, that was the early days,
and he cracked on

with his New World
pioneer spirit.

What's he worth today,
100, 200, 500 million?

But now the plot
begins to thicken.

He has reached a crossroads
in his life.

Middle class and middle age,
they've got to him.

They've corrupted his appetite
for the horrors.

He's gone soft.

He wants to cash in his chips
and get out of the game.

And he seems to have found
the perfect customer.

Smash cut, please...

to interior, a gala dinner.

Just a few words to say
thank you to Michael Pearson

for his limitless
generosity and time.

Now, Mickey has been cultivating
a special relationship with

the erudite, learned and
broad-minded Matthew Berger.

Yes, Raymond, I do know about
the billionaire Jewish cowboy,

another slice of Americana
creating drama in Angleterre-a.

And finally to Matthew Berger,
blindsiding us with his donation

to build the entire cognitive
behavioral therapy unit.

So these two have met before,
fuck knows where.

Presumably at the annual

international drug dealers
convention in Las Vegas.

And they've done
some small deals together,

but now they're ready
for the big one.

Well, that was unexpected,
Matthew.

Now I understand why
you're at the head of the table.

Snuck that one right by me,
you naughty little girl.

Making a splash
with the gentry.

Oh, I like to make a splash
whenever possible.

Well, you also seem to
understand the significance

-of a proper attire.
-indeed, I do.

I believe a sense
of ownership is vital

in every aspect of life,
perhaps never more so

than when it comes
to wardrobe.

For every look,
there is a season.

And for every season,
a strategy.

Now starts the alpha dance.

They're not really talking
about clothes.

Oh, fucking no. They're
like a pair of old doggies

sniffing around one another's
intellectual assholes.

It's a good old-fashioned
cock-off, Raymond.

Michael, I'm looking forward
to doing business together.

May we excuse ourselves?
Yes, please.

We should say good night
to our host.

-So, what do you think?
-I'm not sure.

-Your Grace...
-He's a fox.

Foxes have
a predictable nature.

Trust this Jew
about that Jew.

You let him in the henhouse,

you can expect blood
and feathers everywhere.

Fresh from
a farmyard pheasant shoot,

these two are starting
to like each other.

It's looking good, Ray.
It's looking fucking good.

I'm impressed with what you've
done with your enterprise.

Try as I might, I can't
work out how you do it.

And bush is my game.

How does anyone grow
50 tons of super skunk

without letting anyone
know how they do it?

Well, I'm flattered to hear
that from you, Matthew.

I imagine that big brain
of yours is sweating tears

just trying
to figure it out.

Brilliance should be
acknowledged.

Hm.
Run the numbers by me again.

Two hundred million gross p.a.,
100 million net.

Your people
know this already.

They've swept the numbers
for months now.

The bottom line is
I'll sell it to you for...

400 million.

But you knew that already.
Hop in.

Now, I can't be specific
about the heroes and zeroes,

but there is a lot of money
hanging in the balance.

Question: What would it be
worth to have the power

to be able to pull the plug
on an operation like that?

Answer: A greedy man would
want half the sale price.

But a smart man would know
that 20 million pounds

was just about
uncomfortable enough

to make everyone
feel comfortable.

You're a cunning, creative toad,
aren't you, Fletcher,

coming up with
a plan like this.

But I didn't really come up
with it, did I? It was Big Dave.

He commissioned me
to do a job on Mickey.

Sniff about,
keep an eye on him,

go through his bins,
reveal his sins.

Mickey Pearson,
the odious Yankee gangster.

We're gonna bury him.

'Cause it seems he's got
himself a new friend,

Lord Pressfield.

Question: Is that
the Lord Pressfield--

-Cheers!
-His Grace, the duke?

Yeah! Once fourth in line
to the throne.

Apparently, Pearson
has squeaked his way

into the crack
of his fat posh ass.

This is yours, Fletcher. I need a man
with your creativity, your nose.

You know
you're my favorite bloodhound.

I just think
it's important to remember

who you're talking to,
Dave.

Of course I remember,
Fletcher.

Just make absolutely sure
the check doesn't disappoint this time.

The number is 150,000.

He wants to ruin him.

But I am here
to do you a favor.

It's not like you're not getting
something for your money.

You could even turn that script
into a feature film, Raymond.

We could make it together.
We could be partners.

I have learned off you lot.

You gotta look after number one,
and now it's my turn.

The sun is not going up for me,
Ray. It's going down.

So why has Big Dave
got it in for my boss?

Two months ago, your man Mickey
made my man Dave

feel like a right fucking idiot.

Henry. Mickey.

How did he do that?
Didn't accept his hand.

Dave, Daily Print.
Yes.

No. Editor
of the Daily Print.

Turns out Dave had gone after

one of Mickey's lords,
did a proper tabloid job on him.

It would appear that his
lordship had had a quick spin

on one of his
attractive young footmen.

After the splash,
shares crashed, job went,

wife followed and even
his kids disowned him.

Well, that Dave
can't half be a cunt,

but no one
will pull him on it.

Too fucking scared that Dave
will do a feature on them.

But your Mickey, he's got
a fabulous set of balls.

He snubbed him
in front of a crowd

Dave could only wish
he belonged to.

Lords and ladies,
the sort Mickey feels

very comfortable in front of.

Men, excuse us.

He might as well
have pulled Dave's cock off.

I believe that was
a bit of a "fuck off."

But he just fizzled
like a party balloon.

That's no reason
to go after a fella.

I don't know what to tell you.
He wants Mickey's blood.

And he would be getting it too,
if it wasn't for...?

You're a filthy fantasist.
And now it's time to leave.

Don't be silly.
I'm only just lubing you up..

Now, there is a reason

why Matthew, or anyone else
for that matter,

cannot work out
how Mickey does what he does.

How does he grow 50 tons

of White Widow Super Cheese
every year?

Everyone knows that needs
a lot of space.

So where is the space and how
come he's kept it under wraps?

You can't just dig a hole
and drop

200 shipping containers
in there.

No, my love,
that would not work.

No, you have to be creative.
You need an angle.

The problem with land in this country
is there's not much of it.

And there's public access

even when it's supposed
to be private.

And the public have rights.
Dog walkers...

Yes, jog on.

Foot paths, right to roam.

Bimblers, ramblers,

badger lovers...

and any other busy cunt
with enough time to sniff

the green tweed of England.
Good morning!

And they have groups,
forums, meetings, social media.

And they love
a good chat and a hiss

about anyone who's decided to
mow his lawn without a license.

And then there's
the helicopters, drones,

Google Earth, heritage sites,
parish councils

and the beat goes on.

That's before you think
about getting power in here.

So, what is Mickey's
unique method?

I tip my cap at the cheek,
at the elegance, at the class.

And what would
that method be exactly?

You have to understand a culture
to understand a man.

Toffs, aristocrats,

dukes, duchesses,
lords and ladies.

Lots of land
and fuck-all dough.

Houses to keep, damp to
keep out, silver to polish.

You must remember that cash
is very persuasive

to the class that got spanked
by angry lefties and death duties.

Every time
you inherit a fortune,

you lose half to the state.

So this is my moment
to swoop in

like a guardian fucking angel
and offer my services

so they can
keep their houses in order.

And they're not too bothered
about what I do

as long as that cash
keeps rolling in each year.

It's good to get a lord, yes,
but it's not easy.

It takes work.
Wine, women and disco.

Twelve sites, 12 farms.

One thousand of these estates
in the great UK.

Boone chance trying
to find them all.

That's it.

My infrastructure.

That, sir, is,
with my blessing,

what you are paying for.

If it's as discreet and as
lucrative as you claim it is,

I'll buy the whole business.

But enough foreplay,
Michael.

I want to see your plant.

I've gone to great lengths
to make my operation

as invisible
as possible, Matthew.

If you were standing on
my bush, you wouldn't know it.

As a matter of fact,

you are standing
on my bush.

It's a spectacular business,
Michael.

Such a shame it'll go
bankrupt in 10 years

when things go legal
in the great UK.

And you want me
to pay top dollar for it?

A nugget under half a yard?

That is the price.

Now step inside, and I'll show
you what half a yard gets you.

Ooh, a delightful tool shed
for $400 million.

Is the ball-peen hammer
included?

Of course it is.
Now let me show you the nails.

Watch your head.

Carry on, chaps.

England's green
and pleasant land.

Those are some nails.

Location, staff, technology.

See, you're buying
the substructure

for the superstructure
to come.

And with purchase
you would inherit

the best sites available,

the finest botanists and
herb sommeliers in the world,

as well as the most innovative
marijuana technology

on the planet.

And when this little piggy
goes to the legal market

and the demand
way outpaces the supply,

these locations,

these green-fingered
botanical boys,

as well as
my superior technology

will be at a premium.

And you can own them all.

Did you know
it took 15 years

after alcohol prohibition
ended back home

for the legal market
to scratch that itch?

Fifteen years.

And that's
if you do nothing with it.

Yes, it's a win-win
no matter how you look at it.

And I'm not greedy.

You and I both know
that 400 million

is a fair to generous
asking price.

Especially considering
that once this game's kosher,

it's going to be worth
somewhere between 200 billion

and, well,
half a trillion pounds...

annually.

Weed...

bush...

skunk-amok...

White Widow Super Cheese.

It's the new gold rush.

This is the thin end
of a very fat wedge, sir.

If it's such a fat wedge,
why don't you keep it?

You see, I've developed
a reputation

as a man who came up
the hard way.

You could say that there's blood
on these pretty white hands.

But in the new business,

once legal and under
the jurisdiction

of the respectable umbrella
of ministerial legitimacy,

an enterprise like this will
need a face with a clean past,

which, sadly,
I do not possess.

Retirement
doesn't sound so bad.

Long walks
in the countryside,

pruning roses
with my better half,

raising some cubs.

I've earned it.

Look, we both know growing is
only 50 percent of the business.

I need
your European connections.

I've seen
how the sausage is made.

Now tell me about
the butcher shops.

Well, that comes later,
Matthew,

when the money's in escrow.

Now that we have established
the dilemma of our protagonist,

let us turn
to our antagonist.

Many miles away,
across the open plains,

another beautiful feral beast

lopes his way
to a watering hole.

Who you talking about now?
I talk, Raymondo, of Dry Eye.

Ooh, Dry Eye.
What is he, Chinese, Japanese,

Pekinese,
get on your fuckin' knees?

Dirty dragon filth.

Yellow is their color
Gambling is their game

He explodes on the scene

like a millennial
fucking firecracker.

Bang, bang!
Bang' banél, bang, bang!

You chibai motherfuckers!

I'm gonna have to stop you
right there, Fletcher.

That doesn't sound like
the Dry Eye I know.

Just making sure you're
paying attention, Raymond.

So let's cut instead
to a somewhat anticlimactic

but suave and debonair Dry Eye,
like a Chinese James Bond.

License to kill.

Open them up.
Yes, boss.

Good lord!

Hose 'em down, load 'em up
and fuck 'em off.

-Let me have a look at 432.
-Yes, boss. It's just right here.

There's 120 rims, uh, 32 LS engines,

-60 custom--
-All right. Pay the man.

Sorry, chaps. I quoted you
for a 20 when it's a 40-footer.

It's gonna be d-double bubble.

D-d-d-double bubble?

A gentleman's quote
is a gentleman's word.

Now, either you
or your family

are gonna have
to pay for that lesson.

Do we have
an understanding?

Yes, boss.

Give the soppy prick
his money.

Anyway, let's put a pin in Dry Eye
and turn again to Mickey.

If you're thinking
of smoking that in here...

-don't.
-I find that confusing.

Do you mean don't smoke...

or don't think?

Oh. I'm gone.

Oh, all right, all right.
It's gone out.

♪ Her daddy got
A big aeroplane a'

♪ Her mommy holds
All the family cash a'

♪ And out of tune a'

I think the time has come

for me to introduce you
to our queen.

Harold, bag.

A Cockney Cleopatra
to Mickey's cowboy Caesar.

The only weak link in his
otherwise impregnable armor

is his devotion, his passion,
some would say his obsession,

with his beauteous
lady wife.

I'm trying to do you
a favor here, Mike.

But every time I do you a favor,
it ends up costing me too.

-Come on...
-Why's Miss Kova still here?

That Ranger was supposed
to be finished.

I'm not talking to you, Mike.

Sorry, boss.
Rog is on the Range.

How many times have I told you
I don't want Roger up front?

This is a sanctuary
for the ladies. Where is he?

He's up in your office
with your husband.

Misha, darling, I'll have you
out of here in 20 minutes.

Rosalind, I've got
a spin class in half an hour.

Twenty minutes and no charge.

Lisa, champagne.

-Mike, you still there?
-I'm still fucking here.

If you're still there, who's
ordering the fucking parts'?

So, what do you think?

Ringing the bell,
but not too loud.

Dipped in honey...

that's on the money.

But you always could make
a good cup of tea.

Very nice.

Hello, Ros.

What the fuck
is going on in here?

I should've known
it was you behind this.

Roger's supposed to be working.

You're blowing his brains out.

-I'm on it, boss.
-You wanna be.

Don't blame the Dodge, dear.

You know he's got a special nose.
He's doing this old dog a favor.

Get down there
and earn your money.

Gone.

-What you doing here anyway?
-Thought I'd come by

to have a cup of tea
with my wife.

Go on, then.
Put the kettle on.

Looks like
the deal's going through.

-Second thoughts?
-No second thoughts.

I like middle age.

Like gentrification,
private schools, fine wines

and a spoonful of caviar
to help my medicine go down.

Most importantly,
I'm looking forward

-to spending more time with you.
-Of course you are.

I don't want you
knocking around here

feeling all unemployed
and lost with yourself.

Well, fuck me.

Most wives would beg their other
halves to get out, but not you.

That's because
I know you, darling.

Look, you'll have to do this
elegantly, love.

If word spreads
you're getting out,

that could read
as weakness.

If you smell smoke,
it's 'cause there's a fire.

And that could get expensive.

You're gonna have to stamp that
out without any gentrification.

But not you, love.

Don't you do anything messy.

That's why you've got
people, remember?

Mm, l fucking love you, babe.

Of course you do.

Any chance...?

Nah, you can wait.

I've got a Russki
with her finger on the trigger.

Gotta deal with it.
I don't mind the two of youse.

Go on. Fuck off.

Fletcher...

Why are you wasting
our time?

I know what happens
in my world and what doesn't.

What I fail to recognize is
why Michael should be motivated

to write you a check
for 20 million.

I find you very impatient,
Raymond. I am a storyteller.

As they say in the film game,
I'm laying pipe.

You better put
something through it soon.

So, what is that?
Is that a barbecue as well?

Yes, it is, Fletcher.
I love a barbie.

That is a useful bit
of plant then, isn't it?

So that heats up your knees
and cooks at the same time? Ha!

You gotta show me
how to get one of them.

Well, you can take it with you
if you fuck off now.

Ray...

is there any chance of a steak?

Yeah, all right.

Got a bit of Wagyu
in the freezer, as it happens.

-Oh, I never had Wagyu.
-Be wasted on you,

but it's all I've got.

-I'll get it, mate.
-No, no. You're all right.

-Just stay right there.
-Mm.

Ow! Fuck me!

It's hot.

He's a sly fox, that Fletcher.

Night-night, Asian.

Thirty-two LS engines?

You got all these parts
on a 40-foot container?

Yeah.

How'd you get
your hands on that?

Ask no questions, hear no lies.

Hence the price.

So how much?
Oh, no charge.

Okay, so, what's the price?

-A meeting with your husband.
-Oh, fuck off.

-That's not going to happen.
-It's in his interest.

Tell you what, keep the parts.

Consider it a gesture of goodwill.

You know how to get a hold of me.

I can't promise anything.

Dry Eye got his little sit-down
with Michael, didn't he?

Bold move, that, coming in heavy

sanctioned or unsanctioned...

by the dragon head himself,
Lord George.

Well, he's a naughty boy,
that George.

But Dry Eye,
oh, he's next generation,

and them Chinamen, they upgrade
quicker than i-fucking-Phones.

Is he making moves?

Is he breaking out on his own?

Big man plans behind
Lord George's back.

To be fair, it was very nicely played
with 100 grand's worth of free car parts.

'Cause everyone knows
that the way to a man's heart

is through his wife.

You'd make a lovely wife,
Raymond.

Thank you for taking the time
to see me, Michael.

Lord George sends his best.

I only took this meeting
because Ros asked me to.

Make sure to never
approach her like that again.

I meant no disrespect.

How can I help?

I understand
you're getting out.

Getting out?

Getting out of what?

Bed? My head? The closet?

Don't flirt with me, Dry Eye.
I'm a busy man.

I hear you're getting out
of the game.

And I would like you
to consider an offer.

Look, let me
stop you right there

so you don't waste any more
of your precious breath.

This is not a discussion
for the two of us.

Unlike the salt and pepper,
it's not on the table.

This is a big number.

Cash.

I...am not...for sale.

And even if I was,
you're several zeroes short.

You may be able to buy
your man sausage for that,

but to me, it just looks rude
at breakfast.

You're out of touch.

You're forgetting the laws of
the jungle, looking down on me.

When the silverback's
got more silver than back...

he best move on...

before he gets moved on.

It's not dignified.

It's beneath you, Michael.

Trying to do you a favor.

This is a big fucking number.

And this...

This is a big fucking gun.

Eyes not so dry now, are they?

Hurts, does it?

Looking for your balls
or a hole in the wall?

-Fuck!
-Where do you think you're going?

'Cause you're not going out
the way you came in,

-you deluded duck-eating cunt.
-Ah!

Talking to me about the laws
of the jungle, what was it?

Something about being
beneath me? Silver on back?

There's only one rule
in this fucking jungle.

When the lion's hungry...
he eats.

You're wrong, Fletcher.
That's not how Michael works.

Yeah, I know, I know.
I was just having a bit of fun.

Every movie needs
a bit of action.

It's not like Michael
doesn't have a reputation.

Had a reputation.

He's been gentrified.

--Big fucking number.

I know how you lot love fables,

so let me share
a little fable with you.

There once was
a young and foolish dragon

who came to ask
a wise and cunning lion

about acquiring his territory.

The lion,
he wasn't interested,

so he tells the little dragon
to fuck off.

But the dragon
couldn't understand

what "fuck off" meant,
so he persisted

and continued to ask the lion
about acquiring his territory.

So the lion took
the little dragon for a walk

and put five bullets
in his little dragon head.

End of story.

Now, allegedly,
there's a message in there.

I don't know what it is, but
you're a clever boy, Dry Eye.

Maybe you can explain it to me.

I think your time's up, chaps.

Michael,
you should recon--

Just marinate on it.

In the meantime, fuck off.

Oh, I bet Mickey was pleased
he took that meeting, wasn't he?

Yes, it went very well.
Yeah.

Do you want the top or bottom?
The bottom please, darling.

Yeah, things started to unravel
after that meeting.

Didn't Mickey get a rat
infestation at one of his farms?

Come on.

Stealth. Stealth, stealth.

Go!

Ballys down.

Let's move! Go, go, go, 90!

Oh, shit!

Oh, my days"-

Fuckin' hell. He said
there'd be a bit of puff.

They weren't joking.

Oi, fellas.
It's already packed.

Let's not mess about.
Let's load it up, boys.

Who the fuck are you lot?

Yo, cover up!

Do you know who owns
this gaff?

We don't give a fuck.

I think you got off
on the wrong stop.

-Oi, Tezza!
-What?

Fancy a row?

-Who are these jokers?
-They want our gear.

Marv!

-Who's this cunt?
-John!

-Oh, hello.
-It's Dad's Army.

-Oi, Frank!
-What the--?

What's this,
teddy bears' picnic?

Oi, Mo!

Any more rabbits in that warren?

-You lads fancy a warm-up?
-Not for you Jelly Babies.

On three, lads... Three!

Oi!
You want it back, grandad?

What the fuck, man?

Boss,
let me get two burgers.

And I want two chips
as well.

What is this smell of wee in here?

Who the fuck is this joke, man?

Don't stand near me, son.

Got your mouthwash
muddled up with cat piss.

Take two steps back
and wait your turn.

You better fuck off,
old man, or I'll wet you.

The only thing you can wet
is your underpants.

Now, back two steps.

Trigger, that's you.
Go on, that's you.

-You're up, bruv. Do him.
-Shiv him, bruv!

-Yeah? Go on.
-Fucking do him, man!

Fuck!

Now, if you're gonna stab,
stab, Trigger.

Don't, you know, dance.

What are youse, a Four Tops
tribute act or something?

The Foreskins! The Redskins!

Whoa, whoa,
here come the Indians!

Bit of the old Northern Soul,
is it, boys?

Putting the gay back in
Marvin Gaye.

I'm on fire over here.
I need some back and forth.

What do you got for me?
Make it quick. Make it funny.

Fuck you!

Jeez, that's disappointing.
No, no, not that.

Go again. Go again.

Now, make it sharp.
Cut me with it.

Fucking do him!
Fucking do him!

-Fucking do him, bro!
-Yeah! Come on!

-Fuck! Oh, shit!
-Ah!

-Come on, dickhead!
-Ah!

'My eyes.

-What the fuck, man?
-You're embarrassing yourselves.

Kids stab, girls shoot,
boys punch.

Grown-ups fight
with their heads.

That's where the real battle is,
up here, in the gray.

He sparked me up, bro.

Now, wake up, lads.
Life's quick. You're slow.

Life's hard on a bone top.

Come on down to the gym,
we'll see what we can do with youse.

Hang on.

Are you the coach?

Coach, it's Ernie.

-Fuck!
-Shit!

He's the fucking coach, bro!
It's the fucking coach!

Ernie, what is it?

Ball's in the back of the net.

We've rung the bell. We're gonna
include you. You're our mentor.

I don't know what you're talking about,
but I don't like the sound of it.

We've landed
a load of sticky bush.

Listen to me now, Ernie.
Walk away.

Too late. We're at the gym,
unloading the van.

You took my van?

Wait there.
I'll be back in 10 minutes.

I'm sorry to intrude,

but I think you need to see this, boss.

♪ Didn't have to take off The door a'

♪ Pull up in a dinger, straight
For the hole in the floor a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Don't know what you thought a'

♪ By the end of the night
You'll be picking up your jaw a'

♪ Plants, not 10 or 20 X

This is Eggs Benny,
'cause I never get cracked.

♪ Man's egg got cracked
And his legs went jelly a'

♪ Just know that
We're leaving the room a'

♪ With every last penny a'

They call me Ghost.
You never see me coming.

♪ It's over
When you see Ghost a'

♪ Spinning back kick
Take off your nose a'

♪ Man, don't want that smoke
Elbow to the top of the dome a'

Name's Ernie. Left hand's fast
and right hand's sturdy.

♪ The left hand's fast
But the right hand's sturdy a'

♪ You know I've been bad
From early a'

♪ Your lickie headlock
Can't hurt me a'

♪ I'm fighting dirty ♪
Jim.

♪ Jim, Jim, the Iron Chin X

♪ Can't fuck with him X

♪ When it comes
To this fighting ting a'

♪ Head-butt him
Double-leg takedown a'

Why are we watching
fight porn, Ray?

Because it's fight porn
at one of my farms.

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ Just know we come from
The bottom of the slum a'

♪ And we're hungry
We're coming for the crumbs a'

♪ Like a tax man
We're coming for your funds a'

♪ Bang, bang
You see us in a gang a'

-Coach...
-Jim, put that shit out.

-I've only just--
-Jim, into the office.

Benny, put down that box
of scorpions. Follow Jim.

Wasn't my idea, Coach.

-Oh, shit.
-Mel...

what did you do to your nose?

-You have a fight in a week.
-Looks worse than it is.

-I'm 100 percent.
-Oh, yeah?

♪ Do you wanna bet
Do a million a set a'

Two thousand hits! Oh, my days.

I look mad in this.
The lighting is banging.

♪ Put it on the net
Do you wanna bet a'

♪ It would do a million a set
That's it a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes and boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes and boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

Be sure you get the uppercut.
Looks gangsta.

Is that what I think it is?

Yeah, but the best version of it.

Tell me you didn't put
that fight porn online.

It's white hot, Coach.
They're hits.

-It's gone intergalactic.
-What was I thinking,

leaving you kids alone,
unsupervised?

Take it down. Now!

I've gotta say, I was impressed.

The way they fought,
they're on point, governor.

Whoever trained them
knows what he's doing.

Thank you. That's enough.

Well, I'm just saying.

-Well, quit saying.
-Okay, thank you.

No sooner do I entertain
Matthew's offer to buy me out

and reject Dry Eye's offer

-does one of my farms get raided.
-First time ever.

Doesn't feel like a coincidence,
does it?

It isn't.
There's fuckery afoot.

-How'd they find it?
-I don't know.

I'm making inquiries.

What about Matthew?

He's gonna need reassuring
before he parts with 400 big ones.

So many questions unanswered, Ray.
I mean...

who'd be smart enough to find
one of Mickey's farms?

Apart from me, of course.

And who would be bold enough
to make such a move?

Especially to film it all
and then post it all online.

Because that is really rubbing
your face in it, isn't it?

I'm here to help, Michael.
I'm your friend, your ally,

your Santa Claus for all seasons.

And I'd like you to know
my team of elves

can be very persuasive.

Persuasive?

And why would
I need persuasive?

Well, I hear you might've had
a little trouble.

You helped me before
when my source ran dry,

so I'm just returning
the favor and reminding you

I have effectual friends.

Elves?

-Elves?
-Yes.

-You said elves.
-Did I?

Mm. No trouble
over here, Matthew.

No trouble at all.

-So we brought you a token.
-You did?

And what might this be?

It's a paperweight to keep down
the paper I'm about to give you.

-Well, it looks like a gun.
-And it's a paperweight.

Seeing how in this country,

unlike in our homeland,
they're illegal.

So is riding your bicycle
at night without lights.

Laws are there as a guideline.

In France, it's illegal
to call a pig Napoleon.

But just try and stop me.

I quite like it.
You're very kind. Thank you.

Hands across the sea.

Mickey calmed down the Jew,

and it seems the deal's
still going ahead.

But bad timing, jeopardizing
deals, shutting down farms.

It could be
an expensive disaster

if Mickey doesn't get this
cleaned up.

Should I be scared?

I don't think so.

But I like to err
on the side of caution.

What does that mean?

It means I'm going
to have to close shop.

Shut this farm down
and make it disappear.

You might see
a couple trucks around

over the next few days,
but that's it.

I'm not going to pretend
that missing out

on a million pounds' commission
a year isn't going to hurt.

The pain is being shared.

Stolen product,
loss of earnings meantime,

the cost of shutting down,
the expense of setting up elsewhere.

It's funny, but it
couldn't be worse timing.

-How so?
-I've, um...

I've just learned
we need a whole new roof.

As I say, I'm as upset
about this as you are.

-Henry.
-Mickey.

The toffs look after Mickey,

now Mickey looks after the toffs.

But there's a lot of toffs
to look after.

-Henry...
-When it rains...

let me take care of the roof.

...it fucking pours.

Now, there's only one thing

that needs more looking after
than a toff,

and that is a toff's offspring.

Which brings me neatly back
to Big Dave's story,

the very reason I'm sitting here

sipping whiskey with you
in the first fucking place.

This is how Big Dave is gonna
bring Mickey down,

by using and abusing

Lord Pressfield's
much beloved child.

Lord Pressfield's daughter,

the famous and talented Laura,
all self-hate and harm,

has fallen for this Power Noel's
smacked-out dark charm,

and I want the lot of them.

Especially that slimy
little jam rag Pearson,

in bed with a skint,
discredited toff

and supplying gear to young
and reckless rock star royals,

royals unbridled
by distracted parents

too busy skiing
on the Swiss Alps to notice

and too fucking stupid to care.

Heh, heh, I like it.
You're good at this, boss.

Yeah, I know what
I'm good at, Hammy. Fuck off.

Aristocratic, junkie, bulimic,

autotuned singing daughter
shacked up

with some smacked-up,
once-upon-a-time pop star

and all looked after
by Mickey Pearson. I like it.

You know, I like it a lot.

We wrapped her in cotton wool.

She was our little Lor-la.

Charlie called her that because
she couldn't say Laura at first.

We miss her terribly, Mickey.

I've failed as a parent.

You mustn't keep beating
yourself up, dear.

Anne's right, Charles.
You mustn't blame yourselves.

It sounds as though Laura
fell in with the wrong crowd

at a time when she was
particularly vulnerable.

What more could we do?

It's happened to so many
of our friends.

It's a curse.

-You mind if I look into it?
-So you'll help us?

Let me see what I can do.

Should get yourself one of these, boss.

Well, that's the plan.

-Everything all right?
-You remember their daughter?

Yeah, Laura.
Nice girl, good voice.

Teeny sort of spunk-funk
fuck pop.

-Shame about the habit.
-She's gone missing.

They've asked us to find her,
bring her home.

-Mm-hm.
-That a problem?

I had a feeling
you might ask me this,

so I did some due diligence.

I know where she is.
I don't like it.

I'd rather
we didn't get involved.

Why not?

She's on a South London council estate.

-So?
-It's out of our jurisdiction.

Too many moving parts
we can't control.

She doesn't want to come,
it'll get messy.

Well, that may be true,
but you're still doing it.

Well, I accept that.

-Can't you send Frazier instead?
-I can't send Frazier instead.

You're my best man.
I want you.

It's just that
I don't like smackies.

It's the filth, the grime,
the grub in the tub.

I'm not asking your OCD
to spend the weekend with them.

Think of it as philanthropy.

Come on. You're driving.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Heh, and this is where you have
your moment, isn't it, Raymondo?

This is where you step on-stage

and set the dominoes flying
every-fucking-where.

-Meaning what?
-Meaning no good deed

goes unpunished.
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

Buenos dias.

-Wrong door.
-Ah, ah, ah, ah.

My name is Raymond Smith.

Could I step inside
for a moment, please?

♪ You float in my new pool a'

How can I help you, officer?

I'm not the police.

I just need a moment of your time.
It's about Laura Pressfield.

I don't know anyone of that name.

It would be much easier
for all parties concerned

if I could just step inside
for a moment.

Nope. Fuck off.

Jeez. That's a nice whip, bruv.

Killer motor. It's a shame
about them rims, though.

Yeah, lend us the keys.
Put some chrome 22s on that.

Hey, my man's got the dessies
and the bootcuts, you know?

Defo linking a jezzie.

♪ Lover ungrateful a'

♪ I blew up your body a'

♪ But you blew my mind a'

What the fuck?

What the fuck was that?

Who the fuck are you?

What the fuck do you want?

What the fuck are you doing here?

-What are you doing here?
-Get the fuck out!

Now, now, now.

As you was, boys and girls.

♪ Dream home heartaches a'

Sit down.

♪ Oh, those heartaches X

Thank you.

♪ Dream home heartaches a'

Shall we have
a little bit of fresh air?

Who the fuck
are your mates, Brown?

No need to get excited,
young man.

We will be gone in a few moments.

No, no. You'll be gone before
then. Get the fuck out now.

I can be dangerous
if I want to be!

-Get the fuck out now!
-Sit down, Power,

before you get yourself
into more trouble.

How'd you know my name?
How the fuck does he know my name?

I know all your names...

apart from that little anomaly.

I know where
you went to school...

I know who
your parents are...

and I know you'll...
suck a cock for a 5-pound bag.

Now sit.

Just so we're clear,
I work for a man,

a powerful man.

Michael Pearson.

Ten points to you, Laura.

Who's Michael Pearson?

A friend of her father's.
Run's London's puff game.

-A big dick swinger.
-What is your name, young man?

-Asian.
-And where are you from, Asian?

You don't sound like
one of the natives.

-Disneyland.
-Sounds about right.

You are correct.
He is a big dick swinger,

but I wouldn't want him
to hear you say that.

Best forget what he apparently
does for a living

after we depart.

Now, Laura,

your father's asked us
to bring you home.

She's not going anywhere.

-Do you mind if I sit?
-Yes.

Mm.

I don't build a joint

like the Americans
and the new school,

back-strapping,
jockstrapping, coke-wrapping

and all that bollocks.

I like a good old fashioned
50-50 mix, me.

That's how we used to play.

If there's one thing
I will never understand,

it's why you lot
get addicted to heroin.

If there's one drug
you should not chase,

it is the dirty dragon.

-You ever give it a spin, Bunny?
-No, not me, Ray.

I don't even puff anymore.

'Course not.
Bunny likes the gym.

You can probably see that.

-What you benching these days?
-Three wheels a side.

-What about you, Brown?
-What about me?

What could I lift?

You couldn't lift
a wheel of cheese, you cunt.

Now...

if you want to be naughty,

what happened to a little smoke
and a poke and a glass of wine,

some Barry White,
candles around the bath

and put your finger
in the missus?

Who's Barry White?

Big black geezer.

Sexy voice.

I'm...I'm lost.

Am I in the bath

with Barry White's finger
in my missus?

Be quiet, Brown.

You were lost long before
Barry White walked in.

If you lot are unhappy,

you should share your thoughts
with your friends...

nice friends, talk it out,
find a positive solution.

But, no...

all you lot choose squalor.

Drowning in your liberal white guilt.

Sorry,
what am I guilty of?

Being a cunt, Brown.

Being a cunt.

Anyway,
I'm not your shrink.

I'm just trying to radiate
some positive vibes, man-to-man.

That's what this puff game
used to be all about.

Anyway...

Back to you, Laura.
Queen in this here kingdom of shit.

A single rose
in a cauldron of thorns.

Are you ready
to turn the corner?

Open the curtains
and let the light in?

Do your mum and dad a favor
and try the impossible...

make yourself happy.

-All right.
-Fucking hell, that was easy.

All right, fantastic.
Well, in that case, Bunny,

will you help Laura
with her things, please?

-Incoming.
-It's all right, Bunny.

I don't really have anything.

It's a shithole anyway.

Don't go, please. Wait!

-Oh! You fuck--
-Sit down!

Touch me again, and I'll cut
your fucking arm off.

It's all right, Bunny.
Keep going.

I just will not be manhandled
by a junkie cunt.

Dave...

keep the kids in school
for one minute.

My man probably
wants to buy weed.

What, that Loud Pack, boss?
Or the Purple Haze?

My man just pulled out
a donkey choker, bruv.

Keep your puff...

buy yourself a sticky book...
and a packet of sweets.

Bailing!

Now, now, now...

-You cunt!
-Ah!

Fuck you! Ah!

Hey, that is
a naughty kettle, bruv!

What's the time, Mr. Wolf?

It's time for you to fuck off, lads.

Fucking hit him, Brown!

Oh, he's bought you a gun.

That's a nice little gift.

Five years in prison
all in one little box.

Oh, but that's not a gun, dear.
That's a paperweight.

Of course it is. Along with
a family of six baby bullets.

Guess we'll have
to get rid of that.

-Hello, Ray.
-Rosalind.

-Sorry for the interruption.
-What do you need, Ray?

Laura Pressfield has been
returned home safely.

I' AW, Shit I'
I' AW, Shit I'

Good.

X Aw, shit X

X Aw, shit X

What else?

One of her associates
had an accident.

-Shit.
-He fell out of a window, boss.

Hey, what's the time,
Mr. Wolf?

It's time for you
to fuck off, lads.

-Oh, shit!
-Oh!

Sounds like
an extreme accident.

Yeah, it was more like
a death, really.

-Oh, shit!
-Selfie, bruv!

So you killed someone.

No, it was the gravity
that killed him.

-Who was he?
-Asian.

Some Russian kid
with tracks on his arms.

-Russian kid? Doesn't sound good.
-Anyone see you?

-Little selfie. Selfie, bruv!
-Shit!

Nothing was recorded.
We left it clean.

-Body?
-I've dealt with that.

-Well, this is not ideal.
-It is not.

Can't be fooled
by how those junkies dress.

They went to schools,
expensive schools.

Their parents have money,
lots of money.

And money can be a problem.

♪ Oh, shit ♪

-Shit.
-I bet you told Mickey

nothing about what happened.

You're fishing, Fletcher,
because you've got no idea.

You're right, I am fishing.

Look at this.
I'm fishing...

in my little baggie.

And what have I found?

Oh, thank you.
Or should I say...

Spasibo?

What's that young man doing?

Is he looking for
something on the floor?

Frazier!

Lads, we're gonna need
those phones.

-Hey, run!
-Move, bruv, move!

Bunny, get him!
And fucking clean that up!

Come on, catch me, dickhead!
Little cock--

♪ Shimmy, shimmy ya
Shimmy yam, shimmy yay a'

♪ Gimme the mic
So I can take it away a'

♪ Shimmy, shimmy ya
Shimmy yam, shimmy yay a'

Wanker!

What you saying now, fam? Huh?
Now I got backup.

Shit, what's going on?

You couldn't back up a phone,
you cunt.

This guy's trying
to take my phone.

-What?
-Back the fuck up, pussy!

How you gonna talk your way
out of this?

-Easy, lads.
-You're a long way from home!

I'm sure you're all
roadmen, gangsters,

proper naughty boys
and all that bollocks.

But I come in peace.

I'm not trying to steal it.

I'm trying to buy it.

For good money, honest money.

-Yeah?
-What, this phone?

-How much?
-A full bag.

Then I'll be gone
like the darkness at dawn.

How about you give us that bag
and be gone anyway?

Stop fucking around, cunt!

You know who
you're fucking with?

Give me the phone...

and take the money.

Drop the fucking money
and run, boy.

Right.

Now...

put the phone...

on the ground.

Ta, ta, ta, ta, ta!

♪ Wu Tang, Wu Tang a'

♪ Wu Tang, Wu Tang a'

♪ Wu Tang, Wu Tang a'

♪ Wu Tang, Wu Tang a'

Fuck! You fucking prick!

-What are you doing, Dave?
-It's on him somewhere.

I'm trying.
Give me a second. Fuck. Argh!

Ray, can I use your toilet?
Just a pee-pee.

Fletcher, shoes off inside.

-Leave 'em by the door.
-Yes, mommy.

♪ Shimmy, shimmy ya
Shimmy yam, shimmy yay a'

Come on, bruv!
Where's your pace, brother?

You can do better
than that, ha, ha! Wanker!

Come on, Bunny,
stop fucking about!

Look at you sweat, bruv!
Ha-ha-ha-ha!

Nearly there. Nearly there.
Nearly there. Ha-ha-ha!

Lift those legs up.
Come on, bro,

you should've brought
your running shoes.

Trying out for the Olympics,
are we?

Fucking Usain Bolt.
Come on, Usain!

Oi, are you seeing this?

Phone.

Sorry about that.

Can I go home now?

Of course you can, darling.
Of course you can.

-Is there a problem here, Ray?
-I don't know.

Is there a problem here,
Fletcher?

I see no problem at all.

I forgot to wash my hands.

Next time, call first.

Sorry, guv.

How could so much bush go
missing and nobody know nothing?

I've heard nothing.
Honestly, nothing on the street.

But there is this geezer
called Mickey Pearson.

-Who the fuck is Mickey Pearson?
-You know him.

He runs the bush game.
He's a horrible cunt.

You don't want to step
on his toes.

But there's no way your lads
jimmied his car,

so I wouldn't concern yourself
with that.

You know where to find me.
Keep your ear to the ground.

Prime-Time, in you get.

-Left, right.
-Tss, tss!

Ernie.

Did you get
that Chinese fella's name?

-Phuc.
-What?

Phuc. Like "fuck" with a P-H.

Don't get street with me,
Ernie.

-Where does he live?
-Posh part of Croydon.

Drop the rope. There is
no posh part of Croydon.

-It's comparative, isn't it?
-Oi, Ernie.

What are you doing? Why aren't
you training, you black cunt?

I'm on my own here!

-Did he call me a black cunt?
-Yes, he did.

He can't do that.
That's racist.

You are black, and you are
a cunt. Those are facts.

I don't think Prime-Time
cares what race you run in.

The fact that I'm black
has nothing to do

with the fact that I'm a cunt.

He didn't say black people
were cunts.

He was specific to you. One has
nothing to do with the other.

I'd go further
if I'm not mistaken

and say it was
a term of familiar affection.

Prime-Time's a Gypsy.
I won't call him a pikey cunt.

Why not? He might be
very understanding.

Only if it comes
from a place of love.

Back to the issue at hand.

I need that Chinese geezer's
address, okay?

-You'll have it by the morning.
-Good lad.

-And, Coach?
-What?

-I've got some good news.
-What?

I found out whose weed
we took.

And now you fucking tell me?

Did I say stop'?

Ernie, this is not
the fucking time

to keep your cards
close to your chest.

Just tell me his name
isn't Mickey Pearson.

Blimey, Coach,
are you a Gypsy too?

Been reading tea leaves?
Got a crystal ball?

That is not good news,
Ernie.

Mickey Pearson is terrible news

in the face of
a violent, expensive debt.

I'm here to see your boss.

Feel free to talk.

I gather you're the consigliere
of the outfit

that my boys were stupid enough
to fuck around with.

On that note, I'd like to extend
my apologies on their behalf.

My boys, they're naive.
They've had hard lives.

They're just starting to
come good, but they're my lads.

My responsibility.

So it's me that should be
accountable for their actions.

Now, I can return your goods,

but I can't return
the inconvenience, the time

the fucking headache.

And so I offer you my loyalty,

my word, my time
until that debt is settled.

I'll make amends...

but just leave me lads alone.

First of all, I'm gonna
need to know how your lads

got the information about
where our farm was sited

because that's
not common knowledge.

Once we've overcome
that little challenge,

then we can talk.

Well, I can do better than that.

His name is Phuc,
but it's spelled with a P-H,

so it sounds like "fu-uck."

-So it's Phu-uc?
-What? Yeah. Something like that.

Anyway, he's the kid
that gave us the skunk farm job.

Do you know him?

Yeah, we've met before,
haven't we, Phu-uc?

-Phuc?
-That's the one.

-Phu-uc? Phuc.
-Phuc.

All right.

Don't do anything stupid,
now, son, right?

-How did you know the location?
-I need my inhaler.

In a minute.

I need you to tell me

how you knew the location
of our farm.

I've been trailing you
for months.

Dry Eye was given
the address.

I can't breathe!
I need it, please!

All right, Phuc,
calm the fu-uck down.

Right. Here, steady yourself,
for fuck's sake.

Let's sort him out.

All right.

Here, here. Look at me.

-You all right?
-Yeah.

Where's your inhaler?

Right, here, take a blim.

Now, good boy.

There you go, son.
You all right?

Fuck!

No, stop! Don't!

Fuck's sake, Ray. You need
to invest in some parachutes.

-There's a pattern emerging here.
-I'm sorry, boss.

And who's this
jumping Phuc boy anyway?

-He's Dry Eye's man.
-You mean Lord George's man.

It could just be Dry Eye's doing.

-He's been getting bold lately.
-Yeah.

Well, they still all work for Lord George.

I'm gonna take care of
this one myself.

Lord George.

Mr. Pearson.

And to what do I owe?

What you watching?

I'm watching the telly.

What you watching on the telly?

I'm watching the horse racing.

Live satellite

from Hong Kong.

My only vice.

Well, that's not strictly true, is it?

Meaning?

Meaning I've always
taken vice

to be the definition

of any criminal activity
or wicked behavior

involving prostitution,
pornography or drugs.

So, no...

racing is definitely not
your only vice, your lordship.

I'd say you're eyebrows deep
in every vice known to man.

-There is a difference.
-Being?

I facilitate.
I don't participate

in any of
the aforementioned vices.

What about tea?

What about tea?

Well, that, too, is a vice.

Caffeine is a drug,
don't you know?

So is that what you're here
to talk to me about? Tea?

Sweet Mary Jane is my vice
of choice, as you well know.

Of course, I'm addicted
to selling it, not consuming it.

I specifically chose
to deal in marijuana.

Sure, I could see
there was more to be made

in shifting the white or the
brown powder, as you so chose.

But, you see, my jam,
it doesn't kill anyone.

And I like that.

While your poison...

is and always has been

a destroyer of worlds.

So, yes,

your facilitation is
most definitely participation.

But I'm not here to give you
a sermon on situational ethics.

So why the fuck
are you here?

You're starting
a war with me, George.

I'm trying to moonwalk
with elegance,

but I'm finding it
very fucking difficult.

Laura?

I don't fuck around with puff.

You send your man Dry Eye
around my place

to see if you can buy
my business for beans.

Laura!

You didn't think I'd find out?

Having me followed
for months?

Yeah, you crossed the line.

And that comes with a price.

You raided one of my locations.

You know the rules, George!

-What were you thinking?
-Fuck you.

You raided one
of my locations!

What the fuck
were you thinking?

What the fuck were
you thinking, George?

Laura!

Should you try
and undermine me

or should you attempt
to threaten my position again,

I will be forced to accept
your call to arms.

Do you understand?

Good.

Now, I can see you're feeling
somewhat under the weather.

That's because
I spiked your tea

with a nasty little parasitic
genus called Shigella.

Left unattended, you will
shit yourself to death

before the sun doth set.

I suggest taking
two of these fizzy biscuits.

You'll be fine in an hour or two.

Long enough to consider
your past indiscretions.

And, George, if I can get
to you in your own kitchen...

I can get to you anywhere.

-Did you do it?
-Do what?

Did you raid
Mickey Pearson's farm?

-No.
-So you're telling me

that Phuc did this behind your back.

Well, let's just say this:
he didn't do it in front of it.

-He did it without my blessing.
-But you did go behind my back

and offer to buy his business.

Yeah. Yeah, I did.

Now, let me warn you
the way you warned me.

There comes a point
where the young succeed the old.

Don't push me.

There are some things I don't
know about. Something between

Dry Eye and Lord George.

Now, whatever it was,

someone killed Lord George.

Anyone else might
think that was you

or Mickey.

Should we continue
with our little story?

Does that arouse
your interest, Raymond?

-So Matthew knows Dry Eye.
-So what?

Yes, I agree. Perhaps
they were just meeting up

to talk about holidaying
in the Maldives

or the long-term implications
of leaving the EU.

But I filmed it, had it lip-read,

translated and transcribed.

Rather like the classic
1974 film The Conversation,

starring Gene Hackman
and John Cazale.

You know, Coppola slipped that
one out between the Godfathers.

It wasn't really for me.
Was a bit boring, to be honest.

Now, can I just say,
that Matthew,

he's quite something,
isn't he?

He's not your average American.

He's a Mr. International.

Even speaks a bit of Cantonese.

Come here.
You play Dry Eye,

and I shall be Matthew.

Come on.

All right.

Try and get it in time
with his lips.

-Yeah, yeah.
-Ready?

Roll camera. Action.

"There was an incident.
Lord George--"

For fuck's sake, Raymond.
It's a bit fucking wooden.

Put something into it.
You know, a bit of a welly.

-And action.
-There was an incident.

Lord George didn't
come through it.

Didn't come through it?
Last thing you need to do

is attract any octopus.
Octopus?

What does that mean?
It's not a very good translation.

Nothing wrong with the translation.

Matthew's not that fluent.
It's Cantonese.

Just go with it and fill
in the blanks. And action.

It's all on Michael.
He's to blame.

That is not a smart move.

Don't tell me
what a smart move is.

I beg for your pardon.

You heard me perfectly well.

There will be repercussions
for Michael's actions.

You think you're
running things, do you?

Don't stroke my mouse hair.

-What does "mouse hair" mean?
-I think he means

"don't jeopardize my deal,"
but that one's googly.

Then Matthew loses it, and his
translation goes out the window.

There's something about
springtime and sweaters.

I think what he means
is he's upset.

Dry Eyes says something,

but some cunt moved in front of me,

so I didn't get that either.

Your Cantonese is dog shit,

so I'mma say this in English.
I'm gonna say it once,

so listen to me, Rubenstein.

This is how
it's gonna play out.

You're gonna back
the fuck off,

and I'm gonna take it all.

And you will pay me my respect.

And there you have it.
That's all I've got.

Sorry, show's over.

But I think it's quite clear

that they're not just
Mahjong partners, are they? Hm?

Not all of that
was clear, Fletcher.

I mean, according to you,

we already know Matthew
wants to buy Michael out.

-So why is that news?
-Oh, don't you worry, my darling.

We are gonna come to the news.

I'm approaching my climax.

Dry Eye, I trust you will make
Michael Pearson pay for this.

You are
the dragon head now.

Solidify your position.

It'll be done, uncle.

So Dry Eye got the upgrade
he was after, didn't he?

The question is, what was
he gonna do with it

now that he's Billy Big Bollocks?

Give me 10 minutes, Ray.

Boss.

Hello, Ros.

It's date night tonight,
9 p.m.,

you and I, River Cafe.

Nine o'clock.
I'll be there.

-We're closed.
-Hang up.

♪ Kiss your boy ♪

No.

Hang the fucking phone up.

Who's there?

Ros, who's there?

What you doing here, Dry Eye?

It's warming up now, isn't it?

At this point, I'm guessing

that you didn't even know
that Lord George was dead yet,

let alone what Dry Eye was up to.

Hello, Dry Eye.
What do you want?

Fancy a boiled sweet?

Nah.

Suit yourself.

Who the fuck was he?

I'm not exactly sure
what happened next

because you two managed
to give me the slip.

They got Rosalind.
Call Roger.

Oh, goodie.
Another bottle, heh.

Hold on. You were there?

Yeah, of course I was there.

He's not picking up.

Maybe you should put
your seat belt on.

Yeah, let me call Rosalind.
Let me do it.

I got it.
Just watch the road.

Don't be alarmed.
You're gonna come with me

until I can resolve all
these issues with your husband.

I'm not going anywhere.

She's not picking up.
It's just ringing.

-Fuck!
-You could slow down a little.

Fuck me!

You know how it works.

You either come with me
or Tony here...

is gonna make you
come with me.

You're in my office, under my roof.

It's not your position
for Tony to do anything

other than to fuck off
from whence he came.

Tony.

What's that?
Is that a paperweight?

Funny you should say that.

Anything with weight
can be a paperweight.

-What you gonna do with it?
-That's up to you.

Either you do as I tell you to
and use the door

or I'm gonna shoot fat Tony
right between the eyes.

You see, this gun's
only got two bullets.

I'm not gonna fuck about
illustrating its significance.

You're gonna have
to trust me on that.

The alternative is
a little bit absolute.

I'm gonna have to check
your grammar on that.

It can't be just a little bit absolute.

It either is, or it isn't.

Whatever it is,
I've lost my patience.

I will squeeze this trigger,
and Tony will be no more.

Tony.

Listen to me, cunt.
You take one step forward,

it will be the last
fucking step you take.

Tony, get on it!

I fucking dare you.

Just calm down.
I'm leaving.

I guess that's your
two bullets, eh?

Rosalind!

Rosalind!

Stay fucking still!

Hello, babe.

Hello, love.

So you're basing
your whole crescendo

on a figment of your imagination.

I'm basing my whole crescendo
on the sum of its parts.

A few minor details aside,
I wouldn't have any trouble at all

with selling this juicy peach
of a drama to Big Dave.

He'd cream his fucking panties.

You're too smart to be
blackmailing us, Fletcher.

Yes, yes, I know. I've taken
precautionary measures.

You can do all kinds of horrible
things to me if you want...

I might even enjoy them.

But you'd have to leave
the country and never come back.

So is that the story
over now, Fletcher?

All this, this whole build-up,
was leading to this next part.

This is the news that you were
asking about before. Ready?

Matthew.

He's gonna need people
to run his business

when he buys it
from Michael, right?

He's gonna need a reliable pair
of hands. Someone like you, hm.

-So why didn't he ask you, Ray?
-I don't know.

-It's none of my business.
-Because, I'll tell you,

he already had someone
earmarked for the role.

Dry Eye.

He promised Dry Eye the job,

but only if Dry Eye helped

drive down the price
of Mickey's business.

It was Matthew who told Dry Eye
the location of Mickey's farm

so he could steal
his White Widow Super Cheese

to cause ripples
and reduce the market value.

And that is why Phuc, in turn,

got those juice-swilling,
acne-backed muscle Marys

to do the job.

It was Matthew

who set this whole train
of events off.

But what he did not plan on,
you see...

Fuck you, you old cunt!

I'll piss on your grave.

...was Dry Eve---

...killing Lord George.

Now, Dry Eye does not want

to be subservient
to Matthew anymore.

Doesn't want to be
subservient to anyone.

This is how it's gonna play out.

You're gonna back the fuck off,

and I'm gonna take it all.

Dry Eye likes the smell of power

and does not like Matthew,
so little dragon

needed a gentle reminder of
who was really running things.

You've been in this pool
for two minutes.

I've been swimming in the ocean
with the sharks for 20 years.

I'll tell you how this plays out.

You will drown...

and then my Mossad crabs
will eat you.

And this, my love,

is why I want my hard-earned
20 million pounds.

Because not only do I know

exactly how
Mickey's business operates

but I also know the very man
he's trying to sell it to

is trying to force him
into selling it on the cheap

and has indirectly started a war.

So I think you should be calling
me your trusted consigliere.

Or your spy behind the lines.

Or intellectual reconnaissance
if you prefer.

I'm impressed.

You certainly know more than I do.

I'm impressed not only
by your information,

but by your imagination.

Thank you very much.

So you got 72 hours.

And I would just reiterate
that if anything happens to me,

I do have my insurance policy
in place.

Everything will go to Big Dave,

from him to the public and you,
my love, will go to Mars.

So strong recommendation:
just pay up

and watch me recede
into the sunset

blowing kisses, yes?

Well, then...

time to use the door,
you black bastard.

That's just silly, isn't it?
'Cause I'm not black.

Oh, but your fucking soul is,
you dark cunt.

Now, out of my house
because I'm going to bed.

Can I come with you?

No, but you can go
smoke the exhaust pipe

in the back of your hearse.

I might come anyway.

You'll just hear me
scratching about in the dark...

wanking into a hanky.

All right, so 20 million.

You've got 72 hours
starting now.

Ticktock, ticktock.

And I'm gone.

Ticktock.

Ticktock.

He's just left.
He thinks he's very clever.

Start with Big Dave.

Now, you keep
this between you and me,

but Fletcher's been in touch,
says he's got what we need.

Careful. Fletcher's ass
belongs to the highest bidder.

Yeah. He says
he wants 150 grand.

If it's proper,
it's worth a week's exclusive.

-What does he have, exactly?
-He was just tickling me nuts.

He says he wants to meet
Saturday, so keep it free.

Yeah, pronto!

Oi, you can't park there, mate.
Move the van.

Don't worry.
We'll be gone in a minute.

We're not a newspaper.
We're a blood sport.

-Oi, Ross, move the van!
-I'm on it, boss.

Move it. Now.

-I said, in a minute.
-Oi, spunk bubble,

get rid of the fucking van.

I'm warning you,
Russ does karate.

Careful, boys.

Russ does karate.

Russ, if you know
what's good for you,

get in the car, now.

Sorry, boss.

I'm only a blue belt.

You melt!

Oh, what?

We're making
a YouTube movie, eh?

Breakdancing?

I'm warning you!

I'm fucking powerful.

We know all that.

Tell us about it
in the back of the van.

I'm not going.
I'm not fucking...

No! I can't fucking... No!

Get him in there!

Unbelievable.

Well, well, well.

You're all right, Big Dave.
You're in safe hands now.

-No need to panic, okay?
-Who are you?

Don't worry about that
right now.

Look, uh...

Look, whatever's going on here,

I just need to get back to work.

If you let me go,
I'll forget about it.

I'll have you back to work
in short order, my friend.

Now, I believe
you're a reporter.

There's something
I want to report to you.

Now, it seems for
this brief moment in time,

I've found my way
into the film business.

And last night, I made a film

with an impressively-sized
farmyard pig.

Morning, sir.
Two cups of tea.

One with sugar, one without.

All right, lads, go on.
Give us a minute.

There are some wet wipes there,

your clothes are neatly folded
there on the bench.

Now, in due course,

I'm gonna press the space bar,

and you're gonna witness
your participation in said film.

Now, that little drug
we gave you last night really...

loosened up
your inhibitions, man.

The only thing you need to do
to stop this little creative expression

from becoming
a social media sensation

is lose any interest you have
in the future of Mickey Pearson.

I'm gonna leave you now
to clean yourself up.

Space bar, yeah?
Have a hot drink.

It might make you feel
a little bit better.

It was a fucking rough night
for you.

Enjoy the show.

♪ Old MacDonald had a farm a'

X E-I-E-I-O A"

♪ And on that farm
He had a pig a'

-How's your man then, Coach?
-Ah, he'll survive.

Wouldn't have been the pig
I would've chosen.

I know what bit that is.

♪ With an oink, oink here a'
X And an oink, oink there E

♪ Here an oink
There an oink a'

You are so naughty!

-Good lord.
-I was there. I'm still shocked.

Squeal for me, piggy!

-Is that who I think it is?
-Yeah, it certainly is.

And that's your doing?

-You can't unsee it, can you?
-No, you can't unsee it.

Nightmare fuel.
That'll be with me forever.

Sorry, babe, Daddy's coming!

That story won't be running.

Right. I've got one more thing
I need you to do.

Ah, look, before
you continue, Ray,

I train lads to be good lads.

I'm not a fucking gangster.

Now, I've been forced to do
some gangster things.

That's okay, but I'm not
the gift that keeps on giving.

So with the greatest respect,
I'll do this one last thing,

and then that's it. No ma's.

Three strikes, and I'm out.

-Everything all right, Coach?
-No, Ernie, it isn't.

You need to understand
the severity of your actions.

-Dave, an hour.
-Okay, boss.

Thank you for the grand tour.

I'm a believer.

Thank you, chaps.

Now, are we ready
to finalize the numbers?

We already have.

Mm, the situation's changed, Michael.

-The market's changed.
-How so?

The exit value of your business
needs to be recalculated.

-Please, be specific.
-Oh, I will be.

You're asking 400 for 12 locations
and a distribution network,

which was a fair valuation
at the time,

but when one of those
locations was compromised,

the value of all those locations
were compromised,

and this obviously affects
the price.

Your skunk farm was a fucking
viral sensation on YouTube.

And when Johnny Law
starts sniffing, which he will,

those locations will have to
cease production for, I'd say,

at least 12 months at a cost
of 100 million net p.a.

before marking down loss of
staff, relocation, site rentals.

-You still with me?
-Yes, I'm following.

It will take at least three years

to get your supply,
distribution and demand

back to full capacity.

Your staffing costs are 25 percent
of your 100 million operational cost,

so that's 25 million
per annum for three annums.

And location rental at 15 million a year,
that's 120 GPB bite right there.

Your unit economics
have taken a hit.

Forecasting out your topline growth margin
in the current inimical climate,

I calculate what was
worth 400 million a month ago

must now be valued
at an anemic, mm, 130.

You see, it's not about the
first domino that fell, Michael.

It's about the last.

Please.

I like you, Michael.
You're a good chap.

If you want me to help you
out of this hole

you have found yourself in,

I can pay you $100 million today.

It's a good offer, and it's real.

And I'll do this
because I'm your friend.

My accountant can transfer
the fee within the hour.

I like your domino analogy.

The question I ask is
who tumbled the first domino?

I'm afraid that's not my concern
or my business, Michael.

At the risk of contradicting you,

it is very much your business

and certainly your concern.

-Only you've made one mistake.
-That being?

You seem to have mistaken me
for some kind of a cunt.

Let me introduce you
to the first domino.

It's a tad dramatic, isn't it,
corpses in freezers?

Who is this? What's he got to do
with anything I'm talking about?

I take it with that statement
you are in denial

of so-said relationship
with this frozen Chinaman?

Well, of course, I'm in denial of it.

I don't have relationships
with dead frozen Chinamen.

Best not to be glib at this time
in the proceedings, Matthew.

Don't bother looking
for your Mossad crabs.

This is a fish market,
they have found a home.

To be clear,
I do not know that man.

I'll tell you how this plays out.

You will drown.

And then my Mossad crabs will eat you.

So while you were discussing
who would take over my business

after you fucked it,

you somehow mistook so-said
Chinaman for someone else?

Business is business,
Michael.

-It's nothing personal.
-And while I am not emotional

about the money,
there is a price indebted to me

for the blood I've gotten on my hands

restoring order to the untidiness
that you created.

And that price, according to you,

400 minus 130, is $270 million.

And I'm keeping the business.

While you are getting in the freezer.

You will make that transaction

if you want to get out of the freezer.

It is 25 below zero in there,

and so I assume
you'll last about an hour.

That said, I wouldn't fuck about.

Frostbite is very expensive
on the fingers and toes.

So I would type as quickly as possible

while you have the use of them.

After you've tended
to that indiscretion,

you can then deal
with the next consequence

of your shortsightedness.

As stated, I am not emotional
about the money.

But I am emotional that someone
laid their hands on my wife.

My Wife!

No amount of money
on God's green earth

can pay for that transgression,
Matthew. No, for that...

I want a pound of flesh.

-A pound of flesh?
-It matters not to me

where on your anatomy
it is withdrawn from.

If you don't have the stomach
to take it for yourself,

big Bunny here is very adept
with a knife.

As you can see,
he's dressed for the weather.

But a penny short or a gram shy,

and that freezer door
does not open.

Am I clear?

Good.

-Bunny.
-Incoming.

What, is it Wagyu again
for breakfast, Raymond?

Aren't you going
to introduce me

to your mysterious
and slightly menacing friend?

What's that for?
Is that for my money?

-Where's my money, Raymond?
-There's your payment.

Go on, take a look.

Thank you, mysterious stranger.

That's disappointing.
Doesn't look like 20 million pounds.

It's more interesting than that.

Your insurance policy.

All the photos, all the bodies,
all the skeletons,

all the filth.

It's not the only one, darling.

I'm not a mong.

What do you think's in that,
you fucking eejit?

We were aware
of what Matthew was up to.

We're not
complete fucking idiots.

I've been onto you
for a long time, Fletcher.

I knew you'd been
following Michael.

They're very similar, our jobs.

Only I'm better at it than you are.

I knew when you
came over that night

that you'd only be there
for half an hour...

Buenas tardes, Raymondo.

...to tell me how clever you are
and try to blackmail us.

I've got some important
information to impart.

I also knew you couldn't resist
a 1500-pound single malt

and an 80-pound Wagyu steak

and a state-of-the-art
smokeless barbie

that even keeps
your feet warm.

I love a barbie.

I promise you you will regret this
if you don't hear it.

And when the Scotch
got into your cold veins,

you lost the benefit
of your sharp instincts.

Oh, goodie.
Another bottle, heh.

Can you tell the mysterious
gentleman to relax?

You will regret it
if you don't hear this.

-You fucking--
-Sit down.

I kept you there
because I needed to know

about Matthew and Dry Eye.

It took us a while to find
your insurance policies.

'Cause you're a
naughty squirrel, Fletcher.

Fletcher, shoes off inside.
Yes, mommy.

But it was made a lot easier

after I planted a tracker
in your shoe.

You're never gonna be
a predator with us, Fletcher.

You're always gonna be prey.

So that's it?

Three strikes.
We're good, right?

I'll see you around.

With the greatest respect, I hope not.

Now, Fletcher...

what were you saying?

It wasn't Lord George
that was after Mickey

or Dry Eye or Matthew.

Do you wanna know who it was?

I've got photos.

-Right, you've got 30 seconds.
-Thank you, darling.

Fuck.

Prime-Time, what is it, son?

Coach, we're gonna
take care of this for you.

Ernie's got a plan.

What the fuck are you talking about?

The Michael situation.

We're gonna sort it.

Prime-Time, listen...
Pri--?

Jesus.

Now, you remember Asian, don't you?

The young gentleman
you kept in a freezer?

Well, this is Asian Sr.

Russian oligarch.

Ex-KGB. Made all his money
in gas pipes.

And he's extremely sad
that his one and only son

fell out of a window.

-Oh, shit!
-Oh!

I fear that where
they failed before, Raymond,

-they're not gonna fail again.
-And how do you know all this?

Someone told them everything
they wanted to know about Michael,

and that someone is me.

Go on.

So I said I'd tell 'em where
Michael was for a price.

But that money was pending
till after the deed was done.

When they messed up the first time,

I had a little re-think and came
up with my version 2.0 plan,

which is when I came to see you.

You see, get my 20 mils off Michael first

and then, after the event, heh,

get paid again, double bubble.

But you and your friend put paid
to that, so well done, you.

Why did you just look at your watch?

Well, it's like I say, the
Russians are gonna clean house.

And you are part
of that house, Raymond.

They're gonna get Michael when
he comes out of the fish market.

And they are coming here.

So you see what I've done there?

By telling you,
I've saved your lives,

which, in turn,
saves mine, doesn't it?

Don't fucking move!

Dave.

Dave?

No Dave.

Fuck.

Fuck!

♪ I see it all before me a'

♪ My past of restless wonder a'

♪ My days and nights
Of torments a'

♪ A world of misery a'

♪ The bonds of retribution a'

♪ I cannot shed my pain a'

♪ So easily a'

♪ My spirit's broken a'

♪ No will to live a'

♪ My body's all aching a'

Fuck.

♪ My hands are tied a'

♪ You needn't love me a'

So the Toddlers
spray the car with bullets,

killing the Russians.

The car rolls to a stop...

smash cut to black. Titles.

So, what happened to Michael?

I need an ending.

No, no, no, my darling.

What you need...

is a sequel.

Think it over. Have a read.
You know my fee.

I'm off to La-La to talk
to the competition.

Think about that.
Got a plane to catch.

And I'm gone.

Good afternoon. Ah.

So it's Heathrow Airport, please.
Terminal 3.

And thence to sunny California.

Buenas tardes,
Hetch-amundo.

Raymond.
Well, well, well.

A man of many vocations, aren't you?
Heh, heh.

Now, I want you to play
a game with me, Fletcher.

He's got Fletcher.

If you wish to be the king of the jungle,

it's not enough to act like a king.

You must be the king.

And there can be no doubt,

because doubt causes chaos
and one's own demise.

My queen told me that.

Any chance?

♪ A police car
And a screaming siren a'

♪ A pneumatic drill
And ripped-up concrete a'

♪ A baby wailing
And stray dog howling a'

♪ The screech of brakes
And lamp light blinking X

♪ That's entertainment a'

♪ That's entertainment a'

♪ A smash of glass
And the rumble of boots a'

♪ An electric train
And a ripped-up phone booth a'

♪ Paint-splattered walls
And the cry of a tomcat a'

♪ Lights going out
And a kick in the balls a'

♪ I tell you
That's entertainment a'

♪ That's entertainment a'

♪ La, la, la, la, la X

♪ La, la, la, la, la X

♪ La, la, la, la, la X

♪ La, la, la, la, la X

♪ Man, didn't have to take off
The door a'

♪ Pull up in a dinger, straight
Through the hole in the floor a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Don't know what you thought a'

♪ By the end of the night a'

♪ You'll be picking up
Your jaw a'

♪ Plants, not 10 or 20 X

♪ Run up in the crop gaff
With Eggs Benny a'

♪ Man's egg got cracked
And his legs went jelly a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes
And boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes
And boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ A'ight put it on the net a'

♪ Do you wanna bet
It would do a million a set a'

♪ Put it on the net
Do you wanna bet a'

♪ It would do a million a set a'

♪ Put it on the net
Do you wanna bet a'

♪ It would do a million a set a'

♪ Put it on the net
Do you wanna bet a'

♪ It would do a million a set
That's it a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes
And boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes
And boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ Know that we come
From the bottom of the slum a'

♪ We're hungry
We're coming for the crumbs a'

♪ We're like a tax man
Coming for your funds a'

♪ Bang, bang
You see us in a gang a'

♪ Hop out the back
Of the blue transit van a'

♪ Shit, man, I never had
Money in the bank a'

♪ But there's 25 grand
In elastic bands a'

♪ We've always got
Drastic plans a'

♪ We'll take
Your pots and pans a'

♪ How many million views
Did we do last week? a'

♪ Man, I got too many fans a'

♪ I swear down man
Are drastic a'

♪ You don't wanna
Get left in a casket a'

♪ If we run up in a crib
And it's filled with weed a'

♪ Then we're leaving with it
In a basket a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes
And boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes
And boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes
And boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? a'

♪ Boxes of bush
All buds, no dust E

♪ Boxes and boxes
And boxes a'

♪ We're the Toddlers
Are you dumb? A'ight a'