(theme music playing)
(pounding on door)
(pounding continues)
Quit your goddamn knockin'. I'm comin'.
(pounding continues)
Casket's come with your name on it.
Why tell me in the middle of the night?
- Body's inside. - Evidently not mine.
Well, I'd as soon make delivery.
You'll find out where when I decide, goodnight.
I don't like your tone of voice.
Who are you, Mr. Utter, for me to care what you like or don't?
I'm the guy that the next time you see me,
you'd better take a different fuckin' tone with.
(chuckles)
Given what's in store, I'm not sure I'll ever learn
what price I'd have paid for not complyin'.
Oh, I guess someone lookin' hard
might could find you in there somewheres,
peekin' from under the covers
to make a fuckin' threat.
(crickets chirping)
Their quality apart, Claudia, failing reception,
our efforts are lost to the void.
I understand.
Don't say so! Please!
I lose my thought!
This camp is in mortal danger.
The man Hearst is a murderous engine.
My friend Swearengen,
aware their combat is unequal,
feels the appeal of the gory finish.
Others I've just come to know stand candidates
in the elections,
whose results they know may be moot.
What, one is disposed to ask,
in fuck ought a theater man to do?
Of a certainty, our debut's postponement is necessary.
But unless of one's own volition,
certain is it, too,
that one would not be canceled.
To prevent that, if need be,
even off the boards, one would take steps
of one's fuckin' own!
(scoffs)
Why did you bring me here?
I don't know, child.
What's the point Al having us leave I.O.U.s
when Wu can't read fuckin' English?
Wu gets back, he'll take Al the I.O.U.s for interpretin',
find out Al did the rightful thing
- while he was gone. - It's a big point with Al, ain't it?
When he ain't lyin', Al's the most honorable man you'll ever meet.
Silas Adams: Johnny, balance up against this fuckin' Chinese sign
- while I lay my rack on your shoulder. - Why?
Just shut the fuck up. Get this meat inside.
What are you gonna do?
(panting)
Murder.
(sheep baa-ing)
Where the fuck you been?
I fuckin' vouched for you!
We're camped up at the Spearfish Meadows,
as not to tip Hearst off
till Swearengen can deploy us.
I mean, I rode into town to tell you,
but I fell one saloon short.
Come on.
A lot of chinks in that Meadows up there.
Is the railroad comin' to camp?
To have kept our claim,
we'd have had to leave here, you and I,
so that thugs we'd have had to engage
could counter Mr. Hearst's thugs
without having the further responsibility
of defending us.
So...
we are to sell, Sofia,
so that we may stay.
To be fair to Mr. Hearst--
which is more than he deserves--
the price he is paying assigns a great worth to our holdings,
which lacking expertise of our own and others
now being absent who might have provided it,
as a practical matter
makes refusal absurd.
But how I hate to give that man what he wants.
Your hair has survived my diatribe.
If we left,
we wouldn't be able to see Mr. Ellsworth.
And we are not leaving.
(footsteps approaching)
(water pouring)
Silas: Your fuckin' throat's gonna be at risk, Hawkeye,
in case you don't fuckin' realize,
which wouldn't bother me, except mine's gonna be, too.
George Hearst: Advancing your interests,
Mrs. Ellsworth,
mine
and all others,
what we do here seems
natural and proper.
Mr. Newman, I ask you
to ready payment
to the officers of Mrs. Ellsworth's bank.
We'll receive it where we can put it in her safe.
May I hope, madam,
you do not subscribe to this insulting
and juvenile precaution?
I do not find the precaution juvenile,
so many having been murdered
with whom you've had dealings in this camp.
At least you acknowledge the insult.
I acknowledge the pretense to civility--
in a man so brutally vicious--
as vapid and grotesque.
Have the gold seen to her bank, Newman.
Have its purity assayed.
Let her or her seconds choose the man.
When that tedium is completed, have the documents witnessed
as though we were all of us Jews.
And bring the business back to me.
Excuse my absence, Mr. Star,
as I hope you'll forgive
my thoughtless aspersion on your race.
You stand for local office,
but some contests being countywide,
I await wires from the other camps.
(sniffs) You've changed your scent.
Can't shut up!
Every bully I ever met
can't shut his fuckin' mouth...
except when he's afraid.
George: You mistake for fear, Mr. Bullock,
what is, in fact, preoccupation.
I'm having a conversation you cannot hear.
(knocking on door)
See, that's just Ms. Stubbs now answering my message I sent her
by secret thinking, requesting unguent for my bruises.
Hello, hello, Ms. Stubbs.
Hello, hello, yourself.
- Hello, Sofia. - Hello, Ms. Stubbs.
I'm just going to the center.
- I wondered if you needed anything. - I've let her in on it.
You needn't tell a stretcher how it is you come to appear.
You told?
Asked for unguent by secret thinking for the beating
- she was giving my hand. - That's my purpose in the center.
Stopped to ask if you needed aught else.
If I did, I believe
you'd already know.
Hit her a good one for me.
Sofia: I will.
- (knocking on door) - George: Come in!
I was looking for Mr. Hearst.
Who do you think you're talkin' to?
Candidly, of late,
I'm at pains to be certain
which voices are within me and which without.
This one is without, telling you to come in.
Of course.
What is it, Mr. Hearst?
I've sensed for some while we owed each other a talk.
Let the outcome be grim or worse,
I'll at least be relieved
that it's past.
May I look at the addressee?
How will you know to whom it is be delivered
if you do not?
Oh, dear...
well, I'll be on my way, then.
(door closes)
Must have shook 100 hands in Sturgis.
When you declared for sheriff, Harry,
I feared you'd be a poor campaigner
and derelict in your duties here.
You've held your end up and more.
Ache in my hand and wrist, the deep-set dirt defies me.
Well, if sweeping, you don't raise your usual simoon,
it's a paltry price to pay.
Fuck if you saw that comin'.
I have something to show you, Harry.
The Finster Model 60
steam pumper fire wagon.
Harry Manning: 120-gallon boiler?
Three brass nozzles.
Nickel-finished firebox?
I believe that to be the case.
Did the hats come?
Is that a checker in Steve's mouth?
Samuel Fields: You don't want to look after him, just say so.
Rutherford: Who says I don't?
Only he kibitzes my moves.
- Where are you goin'? - Takin' him to vote for Bullock.
This may require my supervision.
I'll vote just before lunch.
And I'll go once you've relieved me.
(sighs)
You don't expect me to believe you didn't steam this open
and reseal it for me to open again.
I didn't wanna know.
This motherfucker!
For my complicity in his shooting, he orders my death.
- You did read it. - (gasps)
Be quick then, please.
Your complicity's mostly in your noggin', E.B.
It's the whore he wants dead.
By what vile method, then?
Is Trixie to be drawn, and quartered,
and set aflame?
Say he'll have my answer in an hour.
- Al. - E.B.
I can't, Al.
I can't engage him in further conversation.
When I hear his voice, I see the inside of his skull!
Phantoms grin out at me,
oozing gruesome goo.
Slide this under his door then.
Would you rather I tell him?
Only decide quickly.
Fear is every man's portion.
- (crumpling paper) - (door closes)
- Did he send for you, Joanie? - What's happenin' here, Con?
Well, not knowin' Mr. Tolliver's, uh,
present state of feelin' towards you
- is why I ask. - Then why don't you stay the fuck out of it, Con?
Cy Tolliver: I wasn't fuckin' dreamin'.
It is Joanie Stubbs.
I got "stay the fuck out" written on a stone tablet in my bedroom.
- How you feeling, Cy? - I get around alright.
- Your color's better. - Is that a fucking fact?
My color's better, Stupid.
Stupid, this is Joanie Stubbs.
Hi.
What's your name, honey?
Go ahead and tell her your name.
- Janine. - Hi, Janine.
- Hi. - Go ahead now, Jan-nee-nee-neen,
and finish your Latin lessons and your Greek.
The thirst this girl has for knowledge,
she's barely time to suck a prick.
She's pretty.
What the fuck do you want?
I've been thinking about you is all.
(scoffs)
Help me understand cunt, Lord.
Saying the other night you oughtn't come inside that school, Cy,
don't feel I don't wish you well.
Buy some lines in the paper, Joanie.
- Let the public know. - I know you meant that for me in your way.
- What? - Meant me well.
If it's Christmas, where's the fucking snow,
or the fucking harp music, or the like?
If it wasn't for you, I'd have died a long long time ago.
Some happiness has come into my life now,
and I'm grateful I didn't.
My lines are women, liquor
and rigged games of chance.
Are you playing?
What do you think of all this trouble Hearst brought?
Does a girl have to drive cattle for you to eat her pussy?
- (Leon grunts) - You voting, Leon?
Against the opium ordinance.
(sniffs)
What the fuck are you looking at?
That whore's gotta die.
Jen?
Hearst won't stand for an empty coffin.
Likely, he paid most attention
to Trixie's tits and snatch,
so Jen'll adequately pass.
- Jesus Christ. - I know.
- You like her. - She's a nice girl.
Alright.
She's learning to read.
Spend some time with her,
and let me know when you're done.
You'll scare her.
I've done it once or twice, Johnny.
She won't know that's what I'm there for.
She won't need to.
You scare her no matter what.
(sobs)
(slams table) Oh, just give me a fucking knife then.
Just give me the fucking knife.
- Fucking Trixie! - Don't get me started.
(door slams closed)
- What are you doing? - Going for a stroll to the polls.
One vote for Star buys a hand job.
- Repeaters get a suck. - Trixie.
I'm through staying inside.
If something's to happen, let it happen to me.
You selfish cunt!
- No one asked you to put me up. - That's right.
That's right, my fucking choice!
I'm not fucking afraid.
- I guess maybe I'm not either. - Not to die.
Well, ain't you clever?
Ain't you fucking clever,
- you deep-thinking fucking Jew? - Why bother with your boots then, Trixie,
- if you're going to be on your knees? - Let go of me!
Sol Star: No!
- Let me walk out myself! - The fuck if I will!
At least I can say I threw you out if you'd rather die than live with me!
(dog barking in distance)
(crying)
(knock on door)
(crying)
Use just half, till you see how you stand it.
Woman: It itches bad.
I'm saying use just half till you see.
I wanna talk with you.
No, I mean it, Jen. I wanna talk.
Pure conversation.
Nuttin' for you to be alarmed about.
Four and five deep to vote, boss.
Eyes up or predominantly down
when Hearst's goons glare upon 'em?
- Uh, I wanna go check again. - Good.
Good, never opine short of certainty.
What is this, Jen?
A wall.
On the surface, yes, it is.
But inside,
many creatures go about their lives,
such as ants.
They got a whole operation going.
They got soldier ants, and worker ants,
and whore ants to fuck the soldiers and the workers,
right inside that wall, baby ants.
Everyone's got a task to hew to, Jen.
You understand me?
Jesus Christ's fucking sake.
We'll talk about this later.
(sighs)
- I can't. - Give it to me then.
No.
Give me the fucking knife.
She ain't stole, or been quarrelsome,
or set the bedding afire.
Get out of my fucking way, Johnny.
It ain't fair to fucking kill her.
Since when did that begin entering in?
I won't let you pass, boss.
- Johnny. - I won't.
I won't let you.
You're willing to die in her stead?
If I got to...
preferring you'd handle things different.
Make sure the whore don't leave.
Let Johnny cool down, then knock him the fuck out.
What's gonna happen?
What's gonna happen is I'm gonna go look and see if,
perchance, I mightn't be the owner
of another fucking knife.
Richardson!
- I can't remember. - Come here.
Give it to me.
I don't suppose you gonna go vote stocking-footed.
- I forgot. - Ain't those them?
You gonna vote for Mr. Bullock, now.
Even though he beat Mr. Farnum,
'cause he took you-know-who by his ear.
Like some others ain't brave enough to do.
Anyways, Harry Manning, gives me splinters.
How's he do that, child?
Raising the windows after he's ate.
Richardson...
Richardson, you're right about that.
South had that man's gas to load in their cannons...
(imitates loading cannon) wouldn't be no free niggers nowhere.
Noah hisself would have throwed him out t' boat.
(both laughing)
Now that's for us talking now.
Don't you be saying what I say to you outside these rooms.
First you back, you're gonna clean your mess up, Richardson.
- You hear me? - Yes, ma'am.
Okay, go on-on.
- You look fine. - Thank you.
(indistinct chatter)
Male Democrat: Remember who gave it to you, boys.
Vote democratic.
(imitating monkey)
Look what broke out their cage-- a monkey.
Rutherford: Right to vote shall not be abridged or denied...
on account of race, or color,
or condition of previous servitude.
15th amendment to the U.S. Constitution,
Ratified 1870,
law of the land thereafter, including territories.
Pinkerdick: They got something about niggers
not waitin' their turn?
- Not that I'm aware of. - Oh, you ain't aware of it.
Then I guess you want this white man votin' first.
What's a few minutes more?
The nigger was before him.
- Richardson: Yes. - No, he wasn't.
I guess you're blind and stupid.
- I believe I'll vote later. - Charlie Utter: Fuck if you will.
Get your nigger ass back in line.
You'd better be walking him home afterwards. (gags)
Charlie: You'd better see to that yourself,
'cause if he don't make it, you'll be eating your spuds running
till I hunt you the fuck down.
And that ends that.
Charlie: What your shit-stirring started.
Will you drop your fucking ballot?
Ain't it wonderful, Steve?
Sorry for all the commotion, Miss Stubbs.
That's alright, Mr. Utter.
Ah, I got somethin' at the jail
for you and the other one.
'Cept right now,
- I'm pretty agitated. - Well, I got time.
Maybe you'll calm down as we walk?
Alright.
(indistinct chatter)
How do you make your way not sometimes buying silence
by punching her in the fucking mouth?
She thinks Hearst is going to want her dead.
She thinks you'll kill one of these others.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
- Jesus Christ. - Is it true?
I already fucking did.
- Is that true? - Don't waste your Jew's time
wondering what's true and what ain't.
You go over there, tell fucking Hearst
the whore Trixie has been killed,
and then tell Joan of Arc that instead of flames lapping at her tippy-toes,
you'd have her live to fuck in the morning.
And after you tell fucking Hearst,
before you tell that loudmouth cunt,
tell your fucking partner I need him here.
- Don't talk about her that way. - Oh, I fucking recant.
Off you fucking go.
And don't neglect fucking Bullock.
Water comes to a boil.
Unlucky fucking mutt.
You remember Hawkeye.
- How many's he got? - Ride from Cheyenne winnowed the wheat from the chaff.
How many, Adams, of the promised 23?
Almost 18, Mr. Swearengen,
camped in Spearfish Meadows,
ready to join in the issue.
What does he mean by "almost 18"?
17 normal size and a short one that's hell with a knife.
Turn me loose.
Silas: Ain't that Mr. Wu?
In there, Wu.
Go with him to get the men, station in Cochran's alley.
Send word you're positioned with the midget.
That went off well.
- Hello. - What happened, Jane?
Nothin' out the ordinary.
Jane Canary: The bank lady took her child
to Ellsworth's grave, and I got drunk.
- How long you been here? - Many years.
Or is it a day or two?
What's important is you get to keep asking me questions
so I don't get to ask you one.
Go ahead.
Why in fuck, with me asking you in
to play hot hands with me and Sofia,
you stood there instead
looking like you just did murder?
Well, you didn't. I'd come in if you'd asked.
Bullshit!
How can you say we've been sending secret thought messages
and pretend you didn't know?
- Well, anyways-- - Anyways, what?
Anyways, I've just finished my business at the center.
Who gives a fuck?
I saw you, and then I went to The Bella Union,
and I talked to Cy real quick,
and then I went and saw the voting--
Is that so?
Oh, so did you go see Cy real quick?
Did you pay a quick call on Cy?
Did they stick some quick pricks in you?
- It wasn't like that, Jane. - Who gives a fuck? Not me.
I saw at the voting.
What I guess you knowed about Mr. Utter, all these years,
and Mr. Hickok must have knowed.
What he's like in a tight-- one he didn't even need to be in.
Yeah, he's okay in those.
I want to be that to you.
Even when we don't get along.
You got that part down perfect, me and him.
What, the "don't get along"?
'Course, we had years of practice.
- (door closes) - Joanie Stubbs: He sent us this.
That's Bill Hickok's robe you got there,
that's whose that is.
Warm.
George: I, in no way,
wish to impugn his veracity,
but I would have Mr. Swearengen understand that
for her try on my life,
I ought to see that the whore has paid with her own.
Alright.
Wherever the viewing will impose least.
- You'll go there? - Of course.
I feel very safe in this camp.
Al: This fucking place is gonna be a fucking misery.
Every fucking one of them,
every fucking time I walk by,
"Ooh, how could you? How could you?"
With their big fucking cow eyes.
The entire fucking gaggle of 'em is gonna have to bleed and quit
before we can even hope for peace.
What's the fucking alternative?
I ain't fucking killing her that sat nights with me sick
and takin' slaps to her mug that were some less than fucking fair.
I should have fucking learned to use a gun,
but I'm too fucking entrenched in my ways.
And you ain't exactly the one
to be leveling criticisms on the score
of being slow to adapt.
You fucking people
are the original slow fucking learners!
- Mmm. - How was she, pal?
Good, wonderful.
I don't mind a small pair of tits.
(chuckles) You sure you're done?
You look the sort could turn right around
- and drop the hammer again. - I will if it's free.
See you later, pal.
C'mere.
Did it seem like Hearst ordered the interference?
Uh-uh, being stupid on his own,
that strong-arm was.
(chuckles) Or if you want, I could say "yes."
Tea, Mr. Utter?
Tea got kick to it, too, a little, don't it?
Would you rather coffee?
Oh, no, no, no, I ought to get familiar with tea.
Much free liquor as them Pinkertons
poured against you, Sheriff,
it seemed like strong support for you and Star.
My election's countywide, Charlie.
That's what's fuckin' worrisome,
fuckin' countywide aspect.
- (knocks on door) - (door opens, closes)
- Mr. Star. - I'm sorry for barging in.
What is it, Sol?
Everything.
George: Mr. Langrishe.
Making bold to ask after your health, sir.
- I was shot in the shoulder. - So one understood.
But the wound seems healing clean.
- And your back, sir? - Oh, deprived
of your Turkish artillery treatments,
my back is as it was.
Please blame my dereliction
on the demands of readying our theater.
I had been blaming your choosing old friends over
new acquaintances-- please, sit down.
One prays always, sir, as one's store is depleted
by time, new acquaintances may become one's friends.
As your friend, I ask if you believe
that fate has not chosen for your encounter
with your deepest destiny
the place where you now find yourself,
while decreeing for some--
my friend Swearengen included--
- quite otherwise? - Your proposition is that this place,
at this hour will show
- all of Mr. Swearengen? - Yes.
And Mr. Bullock, who took me by the ear?
I only hazard my impression that,
less possessing his character
than possessed by it, he is also someone
for whom the outcome must be soon.
Whilst imagining for you, Mr. Hearst,
the Earth entertaining some larger purpose
to be told you elsewhere and at another time.
Why do you say so?
In those words, mean--
"The Earth speaks"?
A vestige of childhood tales
in which not only humans spoke,
but other creatures, too.
Mountains and streams.
I imagine she speaks to me still,
the Earth, what's inside her,
how to get it out.
Comprehending such a language...
can cost a man...
his own kind's sympathies.
Arguing perhaps
for a more... solitary life.
Sad anointing.
The mountain I must go up on,
Mr. Langrishe, I have ascended before.
It's in Montana, and I came down it with silver,
suspecting there was copper, too,
and now I'm told that's true.
Do I understand you to say you're leaving us?
For the anaconda, yes.
But first, I'll have the election returns,
and then one last visit with your friend
to see the cunt who shot me dead.
Good day, sir.
Box her in my office.
Send Jewel up to clean up the mess?
If I'm having her boxed in my fucking office,
don't I want the blood left for the cocksucker to see?
And when that's over, if we're still alive,
I'll clean my own fucking mess up.
Look in on Johnny,
see if he's grown the fuck up.
Sturgis is a landslide for Harry Manning.
Blazanov: 970 votes for Harry Manning,
68 votes for Mr. Bullock.
Heavy turnout among the bivouacked military.
"Within the hour," Hearst said 20 minutes or so ago.
Didn't you tell him?
I have not as yet, no.
How do you think you might enjoy private life?
Sturgis?
970 votes for Harry Manning,
68 votes for Mr. Bullock.
(loud thump)
(sighs)
Put her in?
Don't I want to put my dress on her first,
- you fucking moron? - I'm sent to check on Johnny.
I'll come back, put her in.
(crying)
Johnny: She's, uh, puttin' Jen in her dress.
Johnny.
Then I'll do the boxin'.
We show united in the prelude when he's making
his entrance and the fucking like.
Comes to viewing the body, I stand for virtue alone.
The deception failin',
I'll make a pass at him with my blade.
In the aftermath,
play the lie as mine,
knowing I speak of you in heaven.
Others owe thought to the future--
their thinking straightforward don't come that naturally to.
Fuck you, Dan! Fuck you!
You got my condolences.
As sorrowful as the passing of Jen is,
you know that Al-- he didn't have no choice.
- Bullshit! - Feeling how he feels about Trixie,
is what I'm saying.
Come on, Johnny, you side with your feelins'.
Right or wrong, you side with your feelins'.
Now, can you come to yourself in time to be of some fucking use?
Cy: You don't chew your cabbage twice, do you, Mr. Newman?
I guess I don't have to set big blocks of time aside
for this future collaboration between us
that Mr. Hearst outlines here.
You don't wanna crack too fuckin' wise.
I don't want to be talking to you at all, Mr. Newman,
but that seems to be the way the hand lays.
I tell him you agree?
Yeah, you tell him I agree,
and I appreciate the chance at a new friendship.
A few nails in the box,
Dan, would do me for pretext.
(door opens)
(hammers)
Cy: All but sucked your prick,
you'd have me be your fucking quartermaster.
(men shouting in Chinese)
The rising tide of fucking chinks, Janine?
Cy: The ragtag collection by the hardware store:
I put in Swearengen's camp.
♪ ♪
(giggles, sniffs)
Good dope today, am I right, Leon?
Last two or three days have been good.
You are a fuckin' beauty, Leon.
Lifts me up to be with you.
- (knife thrusts) - (Leon gasps)
Jesus!
(whimpering)
What the fuck did you do to me, sir?
Cy: I believe I fuckin' stabbed you.
(indistinct chatter)
Gentlemen.
Any word yet on how the other camps have voted?
(clears throat)
Is it as sheriff, Mr. Bullock,
- you divide us? - Need anyone divide us inside?
George: Are you sure you still hold office?
If I'm beat, it owes to Yankton's whore
buying cavalry repeaters in Sturgis.
George: Why, sir, then you must protest,
camp in Yankton, protest and demand justice,
grab the legislators by their ears.
Ain't you here to confirm a croaker?
In here?
Mr. Newman and so many of his cohorts
as he deems appropriate will precede us.
- Don't mind if I go in alone? - Not at all, sir.
♪ ♪
Cy: Hearst moves his operating headquarters to lead,
I get to see to all his other-than-mining interests here in the camp.
Congratulations, sir.
Thank you, Leon.
If those are your last words here on earth,
- you tell the Lord you went out stupid. - He's dead.
Cy: Oh, not yet, honey.
See how the blood still pumps a little out his leg?
When they're dead, that turns to seep.
(heavy breathing)
Do you believe I will leave without seeing?
Well, I was hesitant to presume.
♪ ♪
(guns cock)
♪ ♪
(continues wiping feet)
Charlie: What do you want done with that body?
George: It's Mr. Swearengen's affair now.
Charlie: The body at my fucking freight office,
- what you want done with that one? - You'll be wired instructions.
Has she family ought be notified?
I don't notify fucking family.
I guess, especially, not hers.
(door closes)
She's a sister,
whore's in Gunnison.
Jen's sister, you could write to,
care of the Yellowbird.
I'd take that fucking scrub brush.
A.W. Merrick: I wonder if, the other day,
you took my not publishing the news that you'd been shot
for a failure to observe,
or lay it correctly to a judgment on my part
that suppressing the news would better serve the camp.
I've stopped reading your paper, Merrick.
I'll have my people here start another one--
to lie the other way.
Hop down, I'd like to take last look around.
Cy: If I'm quick enough about this, Janine,
maybe me and Mr. Hearst will get to hear
the lord judge Leon.
♪ ♪
(carriage approaching)
You want to get a listen too?
Huh?
No, Charlie.
- Yes, Mr. Bullock? - You've looked at your last body.
You're done tipping your fucking hat.
Seth Bullock: Get out of here,
or I'll drag you out by the ear.
♪ ♪
Oh, please. Please don't.
Drive on.
Coachman: Hyah!
(panting)
♪ ♪
Tell fuckin' Con to take care of that asshole.
(door closes)
(indistinct chatter)
♪ ♪
Charlie: You done fucking good.
I did fucking nothin'.
That's often a tough one, in aid
of the larger purpose.
Which is laying head to pillow,
not confusing yourself with a sucker?
- Far as I ever get. - 'Cause that's gonna be a project tonight.
Did she suffer?
I was gentle as I was able,
and that's the last we'll fucking speak of it, Johnny.
Wants me to tell him something pretty.
(Bruce Springsteen, "O Mary Don't You Weep")
♪ Well Mary wore three links of chain ♪
♪ On every link was Jesus' name ♪
♪ Pharaoh's army Got drowned ♪
♪ O Mary don't you weep ♪
♪ O Mary don't you weep, Don't mourn ♪
♪ O Mary don't weep, Don't mourn ♪
♪ Pharaoh's army got drowned ♪
♪ O Mary don't you weep ♪
♪ Well old Mr. Satan He got mad ♪
♪ Missed that soul That he thought he had ♪
♪ Pharaoh's army got drowned ♪
♪ O Mary don't you weep ♪
♪ Pharaoh's army got drowned ♪
♪ O Mary don't you weep ♪