All language subtitles for Peaky.Blinders.S04E04.HDTV.x264-BRISK.

This programme contains some violent
scenes and strong language from the start

We're in the middle of a vendetta.
We need Luca Changretta dead!

We used to come here. Who? Some girl before France.
What is that you want?

I want you to help my son
achieve his ambition.

What do you have?
Another enemy.

Arthur Shelby killed her son
in a boxing ring.

There's 15 Italians out there.

There's 13,
I just killed two of them.

The boy in the hospital's
out of bounds.

And I'll ask you to spare
Finn and Arthur.

In return for what?

Tommy Shelby.

Tom.

Good morning, Mrs Ross.

Have a seat.

Thank you for seeing me, Mr Shelby.
I know how busy you are.

How can I help you?

Well, you see, tomorrow would have
been my son's 21st birthday...

..had he lived.

And I'm having a bit of a thing -

just sandwiches and beer
and looking at old photos.

And, as a gesture...

..I thought I would invite
your brother, Arthur.

A gesture of what, Mrs Ross?

Not exactly forgiveness.

But something like that.

And also it's a way of saying
thank you to the Shelby family

for helping me and my children
get by since the death of my Edward.

That's very kind of you.

That's very kind.

I will let Arthur know.

It'll be at my house at midday.

He should come at midday.

Your house, midday tomorrow,
all right.

One of us will be there.

It ought to be Arthur.

Goodbye, Mrs Ross.

FOOTSTEPS RETREAT

MUSIC: Snake Oil
by Foals

All right, at midday today,
Arthur will be here.

47 Artillery Square.

Like a goat tied up for the fucking
tiger, eh, Arthur? Yeah, right.

Dear Lord, forgive me.

But vengeance is forthcoming...

..and long overdue.

Right. There are two ways
into Artillery Square.

One here, the towpath,
and here, Navigation Street.

Finn, take a rifle.

You'll be here, Finn,
covering the towpath.

Most likely, they'll
come down Navigation Street.

Johnny and Isaiah will set up here
as hawkers, selling stolen pork.

When you get the signal from me,
you can open fire. From you, eh?

Yep, I'll be here,
in a window, overlooking.

You still know what end
the bullets come out of, Tom?

ALL LAUGH

He knows.

But these men are coming
for my brother,

believing him to be unarmed
and unprotected.

So, this is my fucking business.

Arthur, let's go.

Keep alive, soldier.

DOOR OPENS

Just put them on the table.

Buy yourself bacon here, ribs,

cheek and tongue!

Plenty of trotter.

Ribs, tongue and cheek, huh?

Mr Shelby.

I'm glad you could come.

Thank you for the invitation.

So...

I don't allow firearms in the house.

It's a good thing I'm not carrying
a firearm, then, ain't it, Mrs Ross.

Do you mind if I check?

No.

Come in.

Take a seat.

Would you like some tea
while we wait, Mr Shelby?

What are we waiting for?

The other guests.

TEAPOT SHAKES

Threepence for the four, huh? >

VEHICLE APPROACHES

HE WHISTLES

WATER SPLASHES

So, where are these other guests?

They will be here very soon.

But in the meantime, there are some
things I want to say...

..before they get here.

By all means.

I've heard stories that you have
welcomed Jesus into your life.

I have indeed.

At the beseeching of your wife...
who they say is a good woman.

She is my shining light.

Though her mother,
by all accounts, was not.

Do you think your repentance will
mean you are forgiven of your sins?

We both know that forgiveness
is out of my hands.

I mean, for murdering my son.

That was a sporting accident.

Because I have not yet found it
in my heart to forgive you.

And don't think I ever will.

Well, then,
why have you invited me here today?

Hm?

Off you go now.

Why am I here, Mrs Ross?

Why did you invite me here today?

BOLT CLACKS

Too late to back out now! >

MEN CHATTER

Now, Johnny, fire! Move!

GUNSHOTS

It's a fucking decoy...

Bring the car round! Now!

What are you doing?

SCUFFLING

GUNSHOT

HE GROANS
Oh, shit!

Arthur!

Arthur!

They're not here for you!

It must be Michael!

You...!

You set me up, eh?

You set me up!
SHE WHIMPERS

Unarmed.

Arthur, you need to get to the
hospital now! Fuck off!

SHE WHIMPERS

HE GROWLS

If your faith is real,

I've got other kids.

CRASHING

If you're here in one hour,

I swear to God...

..I will cover you in tar
and fucking feathers.

Come on, Finn, let's go!

SHE SOBS

HE GRUNTS

Uh-uh-uh...

Where I'm from,

a hat on the bed's unlucky.

My family...

..say it brings death.

Maybe...

..maybe that's what happened...

Last time my man was sent for you,
you got lucky.

Now...

..your luck's run out.

HE PRAYS SOFTLY

HE PANTS

EMPTY CLICK

CLICKS

CLICKS

CLICKS

And tell your mother...

..we have a deal.

Come here.

GUNSHOT

Michael?

What happened, eh? What happened?

They heard you, er,
heard you coming.

The gun misfired.

They ran away.

Johnny!

You came just in time.

You all right? You all right?

Yeah, I'm fine.

Fine.

DOOR OPENS

Oi! Get out!

Small Heath, 333.

Charlie.

Listen, Bonnie Gold will be
calling in four minutes.

Tell him the Italians
are on the road south.

A Rolls-Royce. Maybe two. Black.

Tell him to expect
a full complement of men.

We inflicted no casualties.

I said, we inflicted
no fucking casualties.

REPLACES RECEIVER

HE EXHALES

There's been an accident.

Why don't you move it
out of the way? What?

I said, why don't you clear it,
so that we can get past?

What's that accent?

We're Americans.

We're here on business.

Well, you're going to have to wait.

Jesus Christ...

We waited for you fucking Yanks
until 1918.

It'll be clear in 20 minutes,
all right? Yeah, all right.

Thank you, Officer.

Thank... Fucking hell.

Talking about the war.

Everything here is about the war.

Right, come on, let's go move it
ourselves. Fucking idiots!

What's this? Whose wagon is that?

They're gypsies.

A tribe of fucking gypsies.

Well, we can move it... Hey.

I said, it will be clear in
20 minutes.

Let's go.

We'll find another way out of here.

Go.

Get us the fuck out of here!

Come on, fucking move!

Make a fucking move!

GUNSHOTS

Put the guns down!
Put the guns down!

GUNSHOT

HE GRUNTS

MICHAEL: He spared me.

He said, "Tell your mum
that we have a deal."

What deal?

Just be you and me going
to Australia, Michael.

Think about that.

What deal, Mum?

What deal did you make
with Luca Changretta?

A deal to spare your life.

In return for what?

Men don't have
the strategic intelligence

to conduct a war between families.

Men are less good at keeping
secrets out of their lies.

You've agreed to give up Tommy...

..to save my life.

You never forgave him, did you?

We're out of our league.

No.

No, we don't do that to our own.

Think - if it wasn't for me,

you'd be smoke blowing
out of a mortuary chimney.

Think about that.

Nah, two.

We killed two.

You also shot a copper.

Shot in the arm.

With purpose.

There's a copper on the floor,

the Stratford Constabulary
will swarm all over it.

The copper's alive -
got a description of the Italians.

The Italians
will be forced underground.

We're gypsies.

We're already underground.

You, yourself, inflicted
no casualties this end, so...

You know, Mr Shelby...

..maybe you've been pushing pieces
of paper around too long.

Luca Changretta got away.

You let him get away.

When our paths cross,
I won't be so careless.

And when will your paths cross?

Soon.

If Her Majesty smells of paraffin,

it's because my old lamp
is smoking for want of fuel.

Times are hard,
in case you hadn't noticed.

I hope your insistence
that I take a boat,

rather than a cab, from the station,

wasn't purely for your own
amusement.

No. For the avoidance of
death or kidnap.

And by boat, you get to see
the nicer parts of a city.

You're in The Garrison now,
so you'll be all right. This way.

Morning, Lady Carleton.

I'm not a lady.

Too right, you're not.

For shoeing, stabling, feed,
and two hours a day in the gallops.

Did you think of a name?

Yes. Dangerous.

Dangerous, eh?

A horse called Dangerous
won the Epsom Derby in 1833.

So, I stole the name.

I thought you'd approve.
LIGHTER CLICKS

You should visit her. If I leave
Small Heath, I'll be shot dead.

Anyway, I'm busy.

Well, the good news is your horse
is the fastest filly

that I've ever ridden.

These are her registration papers.

Ready for your signature.

So, is this why you came here?

All this way, in person.

For my fucking signature?

You've lost your wife...

..and now your brother, too.

I thought it would make you
different.

But it doesn't seem to change you.

Nothing seems to change you.

DOOR OPENS

The end-of-year accounts for the
Grace Shelby Institute, Mr Shelby.

Begging pardon, madam.

I've already signed off
on those, Lizzie.

What do you think of his shirt?

He's having them made in London.

I'm not sure about them.

All right, Lizzie, thank you.

But, you know, sometimes he sees
something glamorous and expensive

and he just can't resist it.
He's so weak.

Actually, speaking
of the Grace Shelby Foundation...

..I'd like to make a donation.

SHE CLEARS THROAT

I'll leave it blank.

You can decide how much, Mr Shelby.

Then, perhaps, Lizzie...?

You can pop to the bank
and pay it in for me.

That'll be all, Lizzie, thank you.

Drink?

No, thank you.

Did you pack an overnight bag?

No.

Pity.

Why?

Well, because 25 minutes ago,

the Birmingham branch
of the Train Drivers' Union

called a wildcat strike
in support of the coalminers.

No trains to London until tomorrow.

It wasn't in any of the papers.

That's why they call it a wildcat.

No-one knows.

Apart from you, of course.

Your city.

So, where will I stay in your city?

I'll be free at four.
I could meet you then.

Meet and do what?

I will pour you some gin...

..that I make myself,
from my father's recipe.

Distilled for the eradication
of seemingly incurable sadness.

Going to put that on the label.

I'll book myself a room.

Already done. The Midland. A suite.

I stay there myself sometimes.

Sometimes it's where you stay.

But not tonight, it would seem.

Well, since I'm stuck here,
maybe I should try your gin.

Four o'clock, then.

Where?

I'll find you.

What the fuck was that about,
Lizzie, eh?

Have a guess.

You know what, I can't even guess
any more. I'll be back at four.

Why is she still here?

Something to do with
the coalminers, apparently.

Today is your lucky day, sir.

Give you three to one
on Raging Robbers.

Come on, gents, get your bets on!

PHONE RINGS

Small Heath, 552.

Mrs Gray...

..I wanted to illustrate to you

that, at any time,
we can reach your son.

And we will kill your son...

..if you cannot deliver Tommy Shelby
as you promised, huh?

You just tell us where and when.

And we'll do the rest.

SHE GASPS

Where is he?

Fucking.

Fucking what? Fucking her.

ã10,000? She left it blank.
So, I filled it in for her.

What's Tommy's diary looking like
for the rest of the week?

Fuck Tommy and his cock
and his gin...

..and his stuck-up whore.

I saved this. Read my leaves, Pol.

You haven't done my leaves in ages.

I haven't done anyone's
leaves for ages.

OK.

Pour.

Swirl the teacup.

Think about the man you love.

Fuck him.

Think about your white wedding gown.

Now, pour the tea back into the pot.

OK, I'll read your tea leaves,

if you go and get Tommy's diary.

See if Tommy's got a free
afternoon in the next seven days.

Friday.

Now, read my future
and make it fucking good.

Make sure he keeps it free.

Just read my leaves, Pol.
I already have.

Plain as day.

What are you doing?

Stop drinking whisky.
Switch to stout.

Why?

Make sure Tommy
keeps that Friday free.

Tell him
I have an appointment for him.

And then go and see a doctor
about that baby in your tea leaves.

GRUNTS

Next.

You're not at the fucking
fairground now, son,

get down and skip me 200 for taking
the piss out of a fine fighter.

He's got a head on him, that boy.
And a fist.

So, what do you say, Mr Maine?

He works hard. He's game.

I'll need to work on his defence.

Right now, his left hand
is just good for wanking...

You don't have to earn your money.

We're paying you anyway.
Is he ready? Is he even registered?

I put him down as a welterweight,
Midlands Division.

Amateur turning pro.

Just need your countersignature.

What, like, I'm going
to say "no" to you boys...

Just tell us, is he ready?

In 30 years, I've never seen
a raw boy so ready.

And that's 200, Mr Maine!

So, who am I fighting first,
Mr Shelby?

When you step in the ring, Bonnie,

who do you see across the canvas,
eh?

I see myself.

40 years old having done fuck
all except tramping the lanes.

I see my life wasted.

I won't let it happen.

Me, I'm going to be a champion.

Karna kova booti's kerred,

tute will vel the kralis
of the poov Romany chal.

Fight out at Camden Town.

Boy's name is Goliath.

He said he's at a meeting.

Yes, I was wondering, do you have
any boots that I could borrow?

Why do you need boots?
Well, no-one here will speak to me.

So, I thought I'd take
a walk by the canal.

Is he really making gin?

He's going mad cooped up here,
is what he is.

Like a wasp in a beer glass.

Ma'am.

You'll look a bit funny in these,
I think.

THEY CHUCKLE

Oh, thank you, Curly.

If you're going to take a walk along
the canal, you'll also need this.

Are you serious?

Italians north, Italians south.

He makes gin to take his mind
off being stuck inside a prison.

If you had any sense, Mrs Carleton,
you'd get out of here now.

Curly can sail you to Snow Hill
Station, hidden in the coal sacks.

I said I would wait.

The man you're waiting for
doesn't exist.

Wh-while you're waiting for the man
who doesn't exist,

would you like to try
some of his gin?

The strikers blocked
the Coventry Road,

made all the men get off the buses.

Where were the police?

They were busy.

Apparently, there was a report of
armed men in the Small Heath area,

and there was a murder
at the Summer Lane hospital

and something happening
on the Stratford Road.

The strikers threatened
the men's families.

They said, come the revolution,
their names would be on a list.

Like in Russia.

And the buses turned round.

Yes. They turned round.

Mr Shelby...

..factories are shut,

mines are shut,

coal's running out.

Did you ever consider the
possibility

that the communists might win?

And you and me,
traitors to our class,

will be put up against a wall
and shot.

As a businessman...

..I consider all possibilities.

But, Mr Devlin...

..I'm not a traitor to my class.

Small Heath, 551.

I am just an extreme example
of what a working man can achieve.

Hello, Ada, it's me.

I need your help.

♪ Hole in her sock
where her toe poked through... ♪

Four o'clock.

Is it?

What do you think?

Nice. A little sweet.

I've heard not sweet enough.

Come and see.

My God, Tommy.

What is this, a hobby?

No. I don't really have
time for hobbies.

This is more of a...

..more of a place
where I try things out.

I decided, if I'm going to be
stuck here in Small Heath,

I might as well
do something useful...

Less of a hobby.

More of a venture.

Since the start of Prohibition,

I've been sending single malt
Scotch whisky

to Boston, to Halifax, Nova Scotia,

hidden in crates of car parts.

SHE CHUCKLES

But my supply lines from Scotland
have been unreliable,

there's been a lot of thefts.

And in this modern age,

American women
drink as much booze as the men.

And women, apparently, prefer gin.

So, with the help of a friend of
mine in Camden Town,

I've set up my own source of supply.

Junipers, potatoes...

..sugar and water.

All turned into US dollars.

When we're up and running, we'll
produce over 200 gallons a week.

But before then...

..I need to get my recipe right.

So, tell me the truth.

The truth?

Mm-hm.

You're unlike any man
I have ever met.

And the gin?

Too sweet.

You said you'd booked a room.

No, I booked a suite.

Thank you.

If you book a taxi, I'll go.

You're a businessman, Tommy.
A good one.

If only you could...

If only I could what?

"If only you could change"?
Go on, say it!

If only you could change the bad.

And "the good" is laying
off 1,000 men.

Which I do, like a good businessman.

And I do it like that.

HE CLICKS FINGERS

And people go hungry.

And the bad... The bad's a fucking
win on the horses and a gun

and some fucking self-respect.

You fucking people...!

You bite like your horse.

We don't trust taxis any more.

Come with me.

There you go, brother.

Home sweet home.

A place for you to bring women back,
bring your mates.

Play games, gamble, cards... And you
keep an eye on our back yard.

It's Artillery Square,

the place is full of communists
and strikers.

Having a Shelby round here
will keep them in order.

Light the fucking fire.

Take some of this shit
off the walls.

Curly'll be over later
with some poison for the rats.

Arthur?

This morning...

..I wouldn't have been able to pull
that trigger. I know I wouldn't.

They would have just walked past.

I'm not John.

I know I'm not. All right.

All right, brother.

I know you're not.

I know.

In the end, it's God who pulls
that fucking trigger anyway.

We don't get to decide who lives
and who dies, Finn.

Not us.

You just have to flick a switch...

..in your head.

Charlie said it wasn't safe
to walk by the canal.

He's right.

"Italians north and south," he said.

Nah, it's mostly chancers.

Local kids trying to get famous.

Sabini's boys.

Sheffield boys.
Manchester, Glasgow.

They all know we're on the ropes.

And that's not including the Mafia.

Yeah.

Here's your carriage.

You can catch
the 7.15 train.

I thought there was a strike.

What gave you that idea?

My God...

I know. The bad I can't help.

I wanted you to stay.

Normally, I get me own way.

Losing, occasionally, makes me
worse.

Thank you, Curly.

She looks a picture
in my boots, doesn't she, Tom?

Walk her to the train, Curly.

Yeah.

WOMAN: Not a minute on the day,
not a penny off the pay.

This talk of national austerity,

this talk of tightening our belts

must be met
with resolute certainty.

We will not accept any cuts in pay.

We will not accept working
longer hours for the same wage!

Shoulder to shoulder with the
coalminers, dock workers,

railway men and steel workers,

we will stand united through
the storm

that is surely coming to our city!

CHEERING

CHATTER

Jessie Eden?

Yes?

I'd like to buy you a drink.

I'm afraid the pubs around here don't
allow unaccompanied female drinkers.

I'm sure we'll be fine.

I know you from somewhere.

I'm Ada Thorne.

Formerly Shelby.

I have a settlement proposition

that my brother's too arrogant
and proud to offer to you in person.

HUM OF CONVERSATION

SILENCE DESCENDS

Sorry, ladies, we don't...

Don't what?

It's all right. I'm sorry.
I didn't...

"What are you drinking, ladies?"
That's what you're supposed to say.

Yes. Sorry.

Er, what are you drinking?

Beer. Pint.

And a whisky on ice.

I'm afraid we don't have ice.

Next time make sure you have ice.

This pub's come to our attention
for its lack of ice.

There's more than one way
to achieve equality.

Before you begin
to congratulate yourself,

I'm not impressed with your power
to terrify people.

Whereas I am impressed
by your ability to stand up

in front of an audience and speak.

I was never able to do it.

I've heard people talk about you.

You used to advocate
armed revolution...

Shelby Company Limited
is prepared to offer parity

for male and female workers across
all the factories in our ownership

and withdraw the pay cut for men.

In return for what?

In return for something
very unusual.

But very typical of my brother.

What does he want?

To sit down with you and talk.

If he withdraws his pay cut,
we've no need to talk.

He wants to talk about socialism
and revolution.

Dear God, are you serious?

My brother's a bookmaker.

Bookmakers hedge their bets.

Sometimes long shots come in.

And because
we emptied his buses today,

he thinks we are among
the runners and riders?

Beneath it all, my brother's a
very rational man.

Beneath all what?
You mean, beneath the beatings,

the cuttings, the shootings, the
murders... Yeah. Beneath all that.

Tell your brother that,
when we take power,

all means of production
will be owned by the workers.

Essential industries
will be taken into state control.

Birmingham Town Hall is a rather
beautiful building

and we plan to preserve it.

What else does he need to know?

It's going to happen.

Aren't you a bit sorry
you jumped ship too soon?

He wants to take you for dinner.

I really have nothing to wear.

You'd need to wear boots.

He's suggesting dinner
in a scrap metal yard.

He said you'd appreciate
the sentiment.

If you don't show up,
the offer of parity is withdrawn.

This is not how you conduct
union business. Well...

..we must all make personal sacrifices
for the good of the good old cause.

Right?

VEHICLE PULLS UP

Right.

Fucking hell, it smells of
pig round here, don't it?

Definitely not kosher.

"Come to Small Heath,

"you will go to hell...
for fucking breathing."

Where is everyone?
CAR DOOR OPENS

Stretch your legs, treacle...
CAR SPRINGS GROAN

Fuck me, looks like he's grown
since we left London.

He's like a mushroom, in't he? He
grows in the dark. I need a piss.

Do ya? Yeah, well,
the place is a shithole.

Yeah, so, why don't you just
knock yourself out?

Where is everyone?

Ishmael, please, will you hit
the call to prayer?

CAR HORN HONKS

Well, hit it!

HORN HONKS

Thank you. Thank you.

HORN BLARES

HORN STOPS

Morning, Alfie.
Yeah, it is, it is.

So, how come everybody's
in fucking bed?

So, this must be Goliath.

Right.

Let me introduce you to David.

This way, boys.

I assume that David's out of bed?!

Oh, right, the problem,
right, between rum and gin, yeah,

is that gin, right,
it leads to the melancholy.

Whereas rum incites violence,

it also allows you to be
liberated from your self-doubt.

I hear you're probably more in need
of the old rum

at the moment,
rather than gin, mate.

FLUTTERING ABOVE

Oh, dear. Brother, you've got
fucking starlings, mate.

You know that?
That shit will rot your pipework.

These bastards only understand one
language... It's all right, Alfie.

There is no need.

It's all right, I'm, er...
I'm getting a kestrel.

I hear that you've
got Italians, mate.

You got a kestrel for them
and all? Yes.

I'll have a kestrel for them, as
well.

Well, everything
is confirmed, in't it?

Yeah, weakness behind the eyes,

didn't to blink too much, all right?

You smell of smoke

and coal and horses.

You are back where
you belong, Tommy.

I know you don't touch it.
But you have a good nose.

Right, well, you've got to ask
yourself, seriously, though,

you know, did I even want
to piss and shit indoors?

Or was I actually born
that I were to defecate in fields

and the outhouses. This is a serious
issue though, Tommy.

Cos your people, your class

and my religion
is quiet similar actually

because you just cannot wash it out,

right, because
it come out your mother's tits.

Hm, no.

The Americans want it sweeter.

What have you heard, Alfie?

I heard a copper got shot.
Who shot him? My kestrel.

Right, I'll up the stakes, very
good.

Where are the Sicilians?

They're still using Sabini
for vehicles and for places to stay.

And reinforcements? Ah, no,

they're Sicilians, aren't they,
they don't trust nobody

who ain't fucked a goat on the
morning of their first pubic hair.

They've got traditions.

How many are here? 11.

Enough to drop a man who wrapped his
balls in an OBE till they fell off.

Well, the real question is, Alfie,

which side are you playing for, eh?

No.

Fucking hell.

What kind of world is it
to bring up children

when your own mate
can ask you that question, hey?

But the truth is, Tommy, you're
going to be fucking dead soon.

Yeah, and then, your starlings,
right,

they will peck out your blue
eyes, won't they,

and the jackdaws, they will steal
your gold and your medals,

and pretty soon, it'll be as if

you'd never even
fucking happened, right?

Tommy, here... There are men
approaching. Yeah, let 'em pass.

Right, you tell Darby Sabini
from me,

that if the Italians win,
they're not planning on leaving.

After me, it'll be him,

then you, then the Titanic.

They're the fucking Mafia, Alfie.

They've come here and can't
believe our coppers are unarmed.

They can distil their liquor
and it's not against the law.

They've come here
and they like what they see.

They're coming
and they're here to stay.

Mr Shelby? We've come to talk
purse for the fight.

Your kestrel? Hm?

Tommy, when a pikey walks
in with hair like that,

you've got to ask yourself,
"Have I made a mistake?"

Who the fuck are you?
Who the fuck am I?

Who the fuck is this?

I, my friend...

I am the uncle,
the protector and the promoter

of that fucking thing right there,

in whose shadow nothing good
nor godly will ever fucking grow.

That, there, right, is the Southern
Counties Welterweight Champion.

He is of mixed religion,
therefore he is godless.

He was adopted by Satan himself,

before he was returned
out of fear of his awkwardness,

he is impossible to marry off,
due to his lethal dimensions.

his mother terrified,
she's fucking abandoned him.

And there he is, stood before you,

like the first of some
brand-new fucking species!

Any man that you put before him,

right, it'd be like entering
a fucking threshing machine, mate.

Now...will you offer your son?

Name the day, Mr Shelby.

That's me finished
for the weekend, Tommy? Yeah.

Your mother wants me to
go to the Foundation. Prize-giving.

Just you?

Just me.

Why?

No reason.

No reason.

No reason.

Bye, Michael.

Tommy?

Yeah?

Have a good weekend.

MUSIC: Beat The Devil's Tattoo
by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

# On a gathering storm

# Comes a tall, handsome man

# In a dusty, black coat

♪ With a red right hand. ♪