the field and the enemy
class is celebrating everywhere.
Tell me, Uncle, for the sake
of the people
No enemy will escape our punishment.
The hoofs are knocking
The machine-gun is sounding.
The White guard is all beaten up
No one will ever overpower
the Red army!
The White guard is all beaten up
From eville to Granada...
in the still of the night...
You can here the serenada and
the clash of steel so bright.
treams of blood and song galore...
l've been very, very lucky -
lncredibly lucky.
Now l'm really settled in this flat.
Though l'm absolutely sure there's
something fishy about my pedigree.
A Labrador is sure to have
something to do with it.
he was just a tart, my old grandmother,
God rest her soul.
ure, they cut my head up a bit for some
reason, but who cares. That's all right.
None of my business, really.Oh, look at me, I'm dying.
Some bastard in a dirty white cap - a cook
in the Normative Nourishment canteen...
...at the Central Council of National
Economy - spilled some boiling water
and scalded my side.
What a swine.
And a proletarian too.
Christ, it hurts.
What harm was I doing?
I'm not robbing the Council of National
Economy's food supply if I go foraging
in their garbage cans, am I?
Greedy pig.
A thief with a copper snout.
God, I am so hungry.
We are back from the field.
And everywhere class
enemies are celebrating.
Tell me, Uncle,
for the sake of the people
No enemy will escape our punishment.
The hoofs are knocking,
The machine-gun is sounding.
The White guard is all beaten up.
But no one will ever
overpower the Red army!
The White guard is all beaten up
No one will ever overpower
the Red army!
Of all the proletariat janitors
are the most vile filth.
Human refuse of the basest sort.
Cooks vary.
Take Vlas, the late Vlas from
Prechistenka Street. The lives he saved!
When Vlas used to throw you a bone
there was always a good eighth
of an inch of meat on it.
Sharik, poor thing, you are so cold.
A typist...
he gets a category nine salary
of 45 roubles a month.
He is underpaid at the office, they
give her rotten food at the canteen.
He hasn't got enough money
for the cinema...
...and the cinema is a woman's
one comfort in this life.
Did any one ever kick you
on the backside with a boot?
Or hit you with a brick in the ribs?
My body is all broken, all beaten up.
People have committed just about
every outrage you can think of on it.
He called me Sharik.
I am no Sharik, am I?
Sharik is the sort of name
for a round, fat...
...stupid dog that's fed on oatmeal,
a dog with a pedigree. And what about me?
My future is crystal clear to me.
Tomorrow I'll get pneumonia...
...and having contracted that I,
dear citizens, will die of hunger.
I will try to crawl about on my stomach,
getting weaker and weaker...
...and the first Stoff will
finish me off with a stick.
Yeah, this one wouldn't
eat rotten salt beef.
What would he want to buy
in that filthy store?
Sausage!
Dear sir! Better give it to me.
As a matter of fact what use
is special Cracowian to you?
What good is a bit of rotten
old horsemeat to you?
It's only in Mosselprom
that you can get muck like that.
There's nothing for it;
I will lick your hands.
No collar.
Excellent. You're just what I want.
Come with me.
Obukhov Alley? Very well. This place
is very well known to me.
Good evening, Philip Philipovich.
- Good evening, Fyodor. Any letters
for me? - None at all, sir.
What are you waiting for?
Don't be afraid, come on.
Hey, no, wait a minute. There's a porter
here... much more dangerous than janitors.
Worse than cats.
Come, come.
Come in, please.
Philip Philipovich, there're new
residents just been put into Flat Three.
- Really?
- Yes, indeed, sir, four of them.
My God! I can just imagine what
it must be like in that flat now.
What are they doing there?
Nothing special, sir.
And Fyodor Pavlovitch?
He's gone to get some screens and bricks.
They're