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Братья Блюз

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Cut 'em out
Ride 'em in, rawhide
Let's get the hell out of here.
Shit, I wanna tell you, that's some
of the best goddam music we've had...
at the Country Bunker
in a long time.
Well, sorry we couldn't remember
"The Wreck of the Old 97".
Why, hell! You guys can learn it
next time when you come back.
Bob, about our money for tonight.
That's right.
Two hundred dollars...
and you boys drank
$300 worth of beer.
When we first came in...
the bar lady never charged us
for the first round.
So, like, we figured
beer was complimentary for the band.
Well, I'll just go out
and take up a collection from the boys.
I sure would appreciate it.
I say this trip is nowhere, man.
I say we gotta quit.
What? Quit?
I wish you guys
would make up your mind.
Otherwise I gotta call Mr Ronzini at
the Holiday Inn to get our old gig back.
Back at the Armada Room?
Listen, they want us
to pay for the beer we drank.
So you'd better split.
The next gig is gonna be dynamite!
Huge! You'll see.
I say we give the Blues Brothers
just one more chance.
Why not? If the shit fits, wear it!
Scoot over, goddam it!
Boys look a little upset.
Hey, man. Don't worry.
We got a couple of days.
We'll get the Penguin's tax money.
I mean, look. We got an appointment
to see Mr Sline tomorrow.
Everything's gonna be all right.
Let's skate.
Goddam it.
Excuse me. Are you
the Good Ole Boys?
That's right. I'm Tucker McElroy,
lead singer, driver of the Winnebago.
I'd like to talk to you,
but we're running very late.
I'm Jacob Stein, American Federation
of Musicians Union, Local 200.
I've been sent here to see
if you're carrying your permits.
Our what?
Your union cards.
May I see your cards, please?
Suppose we ain't got no union cards,
and we go in and start playing anyway?
What you gonna do about that?
You gonna stop us?
Stein!
You gonna look funny trying to eat
corn on the cob with no fucking teeth!
Listen, let me talk to Bob,
the owner.
See if we can put your band
on contract waivers for tonight.
I don't want you to move
from this spot.
Just let me handle this.
We'll talk to Bob.
Get in the car and start her up.
You know you boys owe me
a lot of money for that beer you drank!
- Goddam it!
- Bob, we loved playing here tonight.
My brother's writing out an
American Express traveller's check...
to cover the bar tab.
I sure would appreciate it.
I'd better check up, see how he's doing.
I have to sign it too.
I usually sit in the car and write it
out on the glove compartment lid.
Need a pencil.
- Were them guys from the union?
- What the hell, "union"?
Those boys skipped out of here
owing me a lot of money for beer.
What the hell are you guys
all dressed up for?
We're the Good Ole Boys!
You're the Good Ole Boys?
"A.F.M." Shit!
Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration,
don't fail me now!
I don't believe it!
It's that shit-box Dodge again.
The bastards are ours now!
Holy shit!
Boys, you in big trouble.
Maury, you owe me.
We'll play anywhere, anytime,
for anybody.
Put us in the Double Up Lounge, or
the Morgan Park Theatre, or the Crystal.
We always knocked them dead
in those joints.
Discos. They're all discos.
Singles. Mixed singles.
Gay singles.
These people like to dance
with each other.
We are a dance band.
I don't know, boys.
I just don't know.
Times have changed,
you know what I mean?
What are you guys gonna do?
The same act?
You wear
the same "farkakte" suits.
You'll scare people away.
Don't you ever wear blue jeans
or jump suits...
like Wayne Cochran
and the C.C. Riders?
You gotta come through for us.
We need 5,000 bucks fast.
Five thousand bucks?
Who do you think you are?
The Beatles?
You know the size hall you gotta work
to take in that kind of money?
We'll fill any hall in the country.
You guys familiar
with the Palace Hotel ballroom?
- Never heard of it.
- Nice place up north.
Built in the '40s
on Lake Wazapamani.
That seats 5,000.
You
Братья Блюз Братья Блюз

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