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Братья Блюз

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d'!
Cut it out. The owners are gonna
ask me to call the cops.
- You wouldn't do that to me, would you?
- He just got outta joliet.
He's on parole. You can't
call the cops on him, man.
- We're putting the band back together.
- I said no.
Absolutely not!
How much for your wife?
We're putting the band back together.
We need you, man. We need your horn.
I really can't.
We got everybody except
Matt "Guitar" Murphy and Blue Lou.
- We're getting them next.
- No way.
If you say no, Elwood and I
will come here for breakfast...
lunch and dinner
every day of the week.
Okay. I'll play.
You got me.
Sir?
White men!
White women!
The swastika is calling you!
The sacred and ancient symbol
of your race...
since the beginning of time.
The jew is using the black...
as muscle against you.
And you are left there, helpless.
- Fuck you!
- What are you gonna do about it, whity?
- Just sit there?
- Go back where you came from!
Of course not!
- Son of a bitch!
- You are going to join...
with us...
the members of...
the American Socialist
White People's Party:
An organization of decent...
law-abiding white folk...
just like you.
Go to hell, bastards!
Go to hell!
I pledge allegiance to Adolf Hitler...
the immortal leader of our race.
To the order for which he stands.
One great cause.
Sacred and invincible.
Hey, what's going on?
Those bums won their court case
so they're marching today.
- What bums?
- The fucking Nazi party.
Illinois Nazis.
I hate Illinois Nazis.
Heil Hitler!
Ten-hut!
- Gruppenfuehrer!
- Yes, sir!
Get that car's license plate number.
We're gonna kill
that son of a bitch.
Come on home, babe
Oh, come on home, woman
Oh, come on home, pretty baby
I love you
When she walk that walk
And talk that talk
And whisper in my ear
Tell me that she love me
I love that talk
That baby talk
When she talk like that
I can't take it like that
Come on home to me, baby
Walk your walk
Talk your talk
Talk your talk, baby
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.
That was "Boom, Boom,"
a song that I wrote back in the '50s.
- No, you didn't.
- It was a hit.
- No, you didn't.
- Yes, I did.
I wrote "Boom, Boom"!
I wrote "Boom, Boom"!
- Can I help you, boys?
- You got any white bread?
Yes.
I'll have some
toasted white bread, please.
You want butter or jam
on that toast, honey?
No, ma'am. Dry.
- Got any fried chicken?
- Best damn chicken in the state.
Bring me four fried chickens
and a Coke.
You want chicken wings
or chicken legs?
Four fried chickens and a Coke.
And some dry white toast, please.
You all want anything to drink
with that?
- No, ma'am.
- A Coke.
Be up in a minute.
We got two honkies out there
dressed like Hasidic diamond merchants.
- Say what?
- They look like they're from the CIA.
- What they wanna eat?
- The tall one wants white-bread toast.
- Dry. With nothing on it.
- Elwood!
And the other one wants
four whole fried chickens and a Coke.
And jake! Shit!
The Blues Brothers!
- Hi, jake!
- Matt! How you doing?
- How was joliet?
- Oh, it's bad.
On Thursday night
they serve a wicked pepper steak.
Can't be as bad as the cabbage rolls
at the Terre Haute Federal Pen.
Or that oatmeal
at the Cook County slammer.
- They're all pretty bad.
- Matt...
Me and Elwood...
we're putting the band back together.
We need you and Blue Lou.
Don't talk that way around here.
My old lady...
- She'll kill me.
- Ma'am, you gotta understand.
This is a lot bigger than any domestic
problems you might be experiencing.
Matt, what the hell
is he talking about?
- Don't get riled, sugar.
- Don't you "sugar" me!
Now, you not going
back on the road no more.
And you ain't playing
any more two-bit, sleazy dives.
You're living with me now...
and you're not gonna go sliding around
with your white hoodlum friends.
But, babes! This is jake
Братья Блюз Братья Блюз

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