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To smite is to go upside the head!

Because sometimes, brothers and sisters, that's the only way!

The only way.

To smite is to remind we got to stop that decline

and scramble back up to the face of the Almighty God!

- Amen! - Instead of worshippin'

that golden calf, that earthly trash on that garbage island.

That garbage island in the shadowland, wa-a-ay...

way outside the Kingdom of God!

That garbage island, where scavenger birds feast

on the bones of the backslidin' damned!

And so... let us pray.

My dear lady, I do so hope this is not an inopportune time for our first practice.

Somebody die?

I beg your pardon? Oh!

No, no, no. No, I'm not bereaved.

Though it is so kind of you to inquire. The hearse is simply a vehicle

commodious enough to accommodate all the members of our ensemble.

And, of course, our instruments contrived in an age ignorant of miniaturization.

Allow me to introduce my friends, my colleagues,

these devoted and passionate musicians.

Ain't no smokin' in this house.

Oh. Sorry.

What do you think, General? Present any problems?

Good then. Gentlemen, why don't we crowd around and go over the plan?

Gentlemen, this is the Bandit Queen. Gambling den. Cash cow.

Sodom of the Mississippi Delta and the focus of our little exercise.

Here is Orchard Street.

Here is the residence of Marva Munson,

the charming lady whom you all met moments ago.

Gentlemen, I'm sure you're all aware

that the Solons of the state of Mississippi, to wit, its legislature,

have decreed that no gaming establishment shall be erected

within its borders upon dry land.

They may, however, legally float.

While the gambling activity is restricted to these riverboats, no such restrictions

apply to the functions ancillary to this cash-besotted business.

The casino's offices, locker rooms,

facilities to cook and clean, and, most importantly, its counting houses,

the reinforced, secret, super-secure repositories of the lucre,

may all be situated... wherever.

- Gawain, where is "wherever"? - Say what?

- Where's the money? - Oh.

OK, look. At the end of every shift,

pit boss brings the cash down to the hold of the ship in a locked cashbox,

and once a day all the cash is moved down to the countin' room.

And where is the counting room?

Uh... it be right there in that square where you pointin'.

And what, to flog a horse that if not dead

is at this point in mortal danger of expiring, does this little square represent?

Offices. Underground.

Ha! Underground! Mmm!

Underground.

During the casino's hours of operation,

the door to this counting room is fiercely guarded.

The door itself is of redoubtable Pittsburgh steel.

When the casino closes this entire underground complex is locked up,

and the armed guard retreats to the casino's main entrance.

There, then, far from the guard, reposes the money,

behind a five-inch-thick steel portal, yes. But the walls...

the walls are but humble masonry

behind which is only the soft, loamy soil deposited over centuries

by the Old Man, the meanderin' Mississippi,

as it fanned its way back and forth across the great alluvial plain, leaving earth.

This earth.

The General here, whose curriculum vitae comprehends

massive tunnelin' experience through the soil of his native French Indochina,

shall be directin' our little old tunnelin' operation.

Garth Pancake, though a master of none, is a jack of all those trades

corollary to our aim.

He will be doin' such fabricatin' and demolition work

- as our little caper shall require. - Happy to be on board.

Gawain is our proverbial "inside man."

He has managed to secure himself a berth on the custodial staff of the Bandit Queen.

- Damn skippy! - And this brings us to Lump.

To look at Lump, you might wonder what specialized expertise

could he possibly offer our merry little old band of miscreants.

Well, gentlemen, in a project of such risks,

it is imperative to enlist the services of a hooligan, a goon, an ape, a physical brute.

Someone who will be our security, our battering ram, our blunt instrument.

And, on our behalf, I wish him a warm Mississippi welcome.

- Fuckin' A. - Whassup, my nigga?

Well, gentlemen, here you are.

Men of different backgrounds and differing talents.

Men with, in fact, but two things in common:

One, you all saw fit to answer my advertisement in the Memphis Scimitar,

and two, you're all going to be, in consequence,

very, very, incredibly... rich.

Let us revel in our adventure, gentlemen.

Let us make beautiful music together,

and, by all means, let us keep this to ourselves.

What we say in this root cellar, let it stay in this root cellar.

There's no "l" in "team".

Trouble in and trouble out

Trouble in. Trouble out

Without a doubt you going under running out of bubbles

It ain't nothing for you to get squashed like a pumpkin

I try so hard and play my cards afraid to fall. I ain't involved

I gotta call I'm much appalled

Bring on the casket ain't too glad

It's OK. Don't stop on account of me.

No. No, no, no, no. Not at all, madam.

Not at all. We were about to take a break anyway.

The glissandi on this particular piece are technically very, very demanding,

and I'm sure we would all welcome a moment of R and R.

Well, I just thought maybe you'd like to see...

What have you gotten into, honey? Why you sweatin' like that?

Uh... Uh...

Uh, eh, 'cause, 'cause... That boy right there?

He plays one bitch barrel full of a sackbut!

- Ain't that right, Lump? - Uh-huh.

I'm tellin' you, he can tear it up. Right, Lump?

Ain't nobody play the sackbut like Lump right there. He...

Hoo-hoo-hoo!

Don't be shy, Lump. Don't be shy. Lump, that boy, he go...

at it like it was some pussy!

- Oh, shit! - Mind your mouth!

This is a Christian house, boy. No hippity-hop language in here.

- Sometime it's the only way. - Now listen, you ain't gonna hit me...

I'm tryin' to help you, boy, better yourself!

And so you should, madam. So you should.

Gawain is so far transported

by his love of the music of the early Renaissance...

Don't make me no never-mind, he transported!

- I understand. - You been smokin'?

Oh, certainly not, ma'am. I understand your indignation, ma'am.

And I was offering an explanation, not an excuse.

- I myself am... - Hey, hey, hey...

...don't be explainin' me, dawg!

You can't read my motherin' mind, man!

You might got yo' Ph.D., but I got my GED!

- Yes. - Nigga!

A fiery lad... but then youth is fiery.

A fact often remarked upon by the poets of the Romantic era.

My youth, I was in church. I wasn't walkin' around fiery.

Youth ain't no excuse for nothin'.

Anyhow, I just came to show you the fife. Othar's fife. Burned his own.

I thought maybe, you bein' a man of music, you'd be interested.

Oh, indeed I am.

Cut it hisself and burned his holes.

The Israelites called it a khalil.

Yeah, you can read all about it in the Bible. Ain't nothin' new under the sun.

Indeed not.

Gone these 20 years.

He was some kind of man.

Blowed the khalil.

I don't suppose Othar ever turned his hand

or, or turned his lip to blowing the shofar?

The ceremonial ram's horn sounded by the priests of the Hebrews.

No, I don't know nothin' about that. Othar never blowed no shofar!

- Of course not. - Not to the extent of my knowledge.

The khalil was good enough for my Othar.

He was some kind of man.

Some kind of man.

Oh, goddamn! Come on, girl, let me get one little peek.

Don't be cruel. Come on, just one butt cheek.

Pull that ass out and make it clap.

Aw, just 'cause I'm dressed like a janitor, don't mean you gotta do me dirty.

This muthaa's hit the jackpot. Come on, girl.

Come over here and blow on these dice.

You know, I'm a seven on the roll now, but I'm a 10 the hard way,

and I ain't just talkin' crap.

Mr. Gudge, she had a ass that could pull a bus.

I mean, Gudge, it was more than an ass, it was literature.

Yeah, I don't care how big her ass was, MacSam. You're fired.

You say what?

There is no fraternizing with customers on the Bandit Queen.

- Clean out your locker. - But, Mr. Gudge, I wasn't fraterniz...

I said get outta here. You're fired.

You can't fire me! I'll sue your ass!

Sue me? For what?

For in' punitive damages, man!

- Punitive damages. - Yeah.

Punitive damages. You goddamn skippy!

- Punitive damages. - I see why you firin' me, Mr. Gudge.

Yeah, it's simple and plain. You firin' me 'cause I'm black.

MacSam, everybody on the custodial staff is black.

Your replacement is gonna be black.

His replacement, no doubt, will be black!

Well, the in' judge is goin' be black, muthaa.

- Oh. - And you?

- You gon' stand tall before the man. - Oh.

And your replacement's gonna be black,

- muthaa! - Thank you.

Oh, my.

Oh, my, my, my, my, my, my, my.

This is a severe setback.

I am distraught. I'm more than distraught.

I am devastated.

I-I'm beside myself. I'm at a positive loss for words.

- You still talkin' OK, though. - Have you all decided?

Madam, we must have waffles. We must all have waffles forthwith.

We must all think. We must all have waffles

and think, each and every one of us, to the very best of his ability.

Perhaps if you apologized to the man and gave him flowers.

Or perhaps a fruit basket

with a card depicting a misty seascape and inscribed with a sentiment.

I ain't apologizin' to that muthaa. He fired me 'cause I'm black!

He can't do that. You could sue him. Open and shut case.

- Fuckin' A. - Surely a chocolate assortment

has been known to melt the heart of even the hardest misanthrope.

That man ain't rollin' over for no ing candy bar.

Uh, we've had a bit of a setback on the tunneling front, too.

- We've run into a pretty large rock. - Rock!

- Very bad. Very bad. - Oh, my.

Seems that the poet was right.

Troubles never singly come.

Oh, no, we can get through the rock. No worries there.

Easiest thing in the world. Why, we just blow right through it.

I got a pyro license. Just, uh, bore a hole in the rock

and pack in a little plastique. Igneous blows pretty good.

- And then we could... - Hello, Garth.

- Am I ordering the primer cord? - Yes, Mountain.

We were just talking about that, and some plastique.

- What the is this? - Oh, this is Mountain Girl.

Mountain is my right hand. She helps me out with ordnance.

- Helps me with... damn near everything. - Hey.

You brought yo' bitch to the Waffle Hut?

I must confess myself to be puzzled as well.

I thought it was understood that when it came to our little enterprise,

"mum" was the word.

Of course, I understand that, but this is Mountain Girl.

I don't keep secrets from Mountain.

That's not how you maintain a loving, caring relationship.

You brought yo' bitch to the Waffle Hut!

The man brought his bitch... to the Waffle Hut!

All right, look, you, I will thank you to stop referring to Mountain that way.

She is the other half of my life.

Everybody lookin' at me like I'm some kind of -up for losin' a sorry-ass job,

and this muthaa brings his bitch

- to the muthain' Waffle Hut! - Son-of-a-bitch punk!

- Shut your goddamn mouth! - You better raise the up, a!

- Gentlemen, please. - Back the up!

You gon' back that shit the up!

- Gentlemen, please. - What?! What?!

Please, gentlemen, this behavior does you no credit in the eyes of your colleagues,

nor in those of the other patrons of this Waffle Hut.

Little punk.

Oh, look at this. I got blueberry syrup on my safari jacket!

Gentlemen, I propose that we consider the matter of this woman,

- Mountain Water... - Mountain Girl.

I'm so very sorry. I propose that we consider this matter closed.

And we shall choose to trust her since we have no choice,