CHOIR: ♪ The Simpsons ♪
(tires screeching)
D’oh!
(screams)
(tires screeching)
("Pop! Goes the Weasel" playing)
(music stops)
(moans)
(kids laughing and chattering)
Otto, Bart won’t give me a seat.
You know I can deal with your problem
or I can rock out.
But I cannot do both.
(singing to music): ♪ We’re an American band ♪
♪ We’re comin’ to your town ♪
♪ We’ll help you party down ♪
♪ We’re an American band... ♪
(whines): Otto, help me.
(music stops)
Fu-u-u-u... nk.
(groans)
(birds chirping)
What am I hearing now?
(gasps)
Nature?
The ultimate bring-down.
Why... (grunts)
was I...
born?!
BART: Don’t worry, dude.
We’ll hook you up with some tunes.
CHILDREN (singing): ♪ Old McDonald had a fart ♪
♪ Fart, fart, fart, fart, fart ♪
♪ And on his fart he had a fart ♪
♪ Fart, fart, fart, fart, fart. ♪
That’s not a song.
Real songs are about deals with the devil,
far-off lands,
and where you’d find smoke in relation to water.
Mister driver?
One of my bus mates has purloined my French horn.
Why can’t you talk like a dude?
Oh, knock it off, Kearney.
Why are you still in this school anyway?
We were in third grade together.
Stupid school doesn’t know how to teach me.
♪ The farts on the bus go round and round... ♪
(making farting sounds to music)
Oh, wow, this is about 90% less funny
than you think it is.
-W-Wait... the radio. -(farting)
That’ll drown ’em out.
-(disco music playing) -(groans) Disco?
-(gentle music plays) -Easy listening.
-(country music plays) -Country Western?
-(slow music plays) -World music?
-(R & B music plays) -Urban smooth?
-(jazzy salsa music plays) -Salsa fusion?
-(radio shuts off) -(moans)
(gasps): Metallica?
(tires skidding)
Am I on drugs?
Yes, you are, but that really is Metallica.
Now if you’ll excuse me,
I’m late for a gumdrop parade on Foo-Foo Island.
(laughing)
What’s up, Metallica?
Need a lift?
We don’t take rides from strangers.
I’m no stranger. Remember this?
Metallica ru-u-u...les!
Oh, yeah, Springfield Arena, 1997,
Row XX, Seat 64.
I was about to quit the band when I saw your lighter.
You saved me that night.
So what are you waiting for? Hop in.
(chuckles): Hop in what?
(tires screeching)
Look at me, I’m Otto.
I’m a hundred years old, and I drive a school bus.
(Bart laughing, tires squealing)
Oh, man.
Maybe me and Metallica can go splitsies on a cab.
(engine accelerating)
Hey, loser, we got a ride from a real fan.
I used to sleep with Lars’s grandmother.
Never listen to our music again.
(playing "Master of Puppets")
(music continues)
Bye-bye, take care,
watch your step, eat my shorts,
have a good one.
She’s all yours, dude.
Oh, and I think I ran over a moose.
This is for every bus driver,
-lunch lady, -(Bart cries out)
gym coach, hall monitor...
Otto.
Are you meting out corporal punishment?
-Can’t... talk... now. -(Bart cries out)
I’m spanking a child.
You are temporarily suspended from bus driving, with pay.
No...!
Hand in your beaded seat-cover.
And your gun.
MARGE: I hope you’re happy, Bart. Thanks to your hijinks,
I have to drive you and your friends to school.
Let me drive. I go through yellow lights.
One more crack out of you, young man,
and I’m showing everyone
your baby pictures.
(Bart gasps)
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
Carpool!
I brought my own car seat.
Look.
(panting excitedly)
Hey, Lisa, my safety bar matches your eyes.
(laughing)
Carpool, Nelson!
Just a sec, I’ve got to finish my science project.
(squeaks, chitters angrily)
(chitters)
Whoa.
"Squirrels don’t like rocks."
Okay, just one more kid to pick up.
Ew, it’s Michael.
That weird kid who never says anything.
He’s so gross and stupid.
BOTH: Hi, Michael. Hi, Michael.
Hey, dork, you’re sittin’ on my shadow.
Sorry.
What, you’re too good to sit on my shadow?
Aw, I forgot my math book.
No problem, I’ll just drive up to your house and get it.
(tires squealing)
NELSON: Whoa.
Your mother must dance at the nicest strip club in town.
Michael, my son.
Here is your book, and never forget:
the divisor goes into the dividend.
Yes, Papa.
BART: That was Fat Tony.
Your dad’s a mob boss?
(nervous laughter)
Please don’t have me whacked.
I was just kidding around.
We were all having fun.
Wasn’t it fun?
(nervous laughter)
Oh, fun is so fun.
There is no Mafia.
Columbus Day is better than Christmas.
(all chatting)
(kids gasp)
KIDS (whispering): He’s Fat Tony’s son!
His dad kills people!
His daddy putted bullets in my daddy.
My daddy had to potty in a bag.
Ah, look at all this puke!
Why did I come in on my day off?
Oh, Fat Tony’s lad!
(grunts)
God bless you.
(playing slowly and discordantly)
Oh, stop, stop!
Who’s the out-of-tune idiot on third clarinet?
That’s me.
I p--you didn’t let me finish!
I... from now on you’re not third clarinet,
you’re first everything!
Now if you excuse me, I’m brewing tea
and I have to go jiggle my bags!
You’re sitting with me?
I’m not afraid of you.
Well, you shouldn’t be.
I’m not like my dad.
I understand.
I’m not like my dad either.
Oh.
(crunch)
Ew! There’s a triple-A battery
in my macaroni and cheese!
It counts as a vegetable.
I can’t eat this.
You know, I cook a little.
Maybe I can make you something.
All we need is some fresh ingredients.
Well, you’re not going to find any here.
(wind howling, ghost screaming)
Yeah, yeah, yeah,
get in the bowl.
Dandelion greens, a sprig of wild dill,
fresh blackberry juice for dressing.
It’s delicious!
Are you just saying that
’cause you’re afraid of my dad?
No, it’s great!
Ooh! Except for the bee!
It’s good to see you laughing!
(car screeches to a halt)
You could make a great chef someday.
(sighs): My dad wants me to go into the family business.
Which is, uh...
"waste management."
(grimly): We are going for a ride.
(all scream)
By which I mean the carpool.
Perhaps we will get yogurt.
(all sigh in relief)
(grimly): Now who wants to sleep with the fishes?
Because I brought this Finding Nemo bedspread.
(sigh in relief)
FAT TONY: The Calabresis!
My archenemies in waste management!
♪ I woke up this morning ♪
♪ I got myself a gun. ♪
Milhouse, may I borrow your three-ring binder?
"Garfield" or "Love Is?"
Uh, I prefer the cat.
He hates Mondays.
We can all relate.
(all sigh)
(blaring horn)
-Eh. -Not that bad.
BART AND LISA: Mom!
I apologize for my tardiness.
I "ran into" some old acquaintances.
On the surface, that sounds perfectly pleasant.
Papa, can Lisa and her family come over for dinner?
We’d love to!
You know, I’ve never met your wife.
Sadly, my Anna Maria was whacked by natural causes.
Oh, you’re a widower.
I bring flowers to her grave every Sunday.
Ooh, flowers every week!
I wish I was dead.
(doorbell rings)
Welcome to my home.
(gasps)
Must have cost a fortune.
Actually, you can really keep costs down
when you don’t pay for materials or labor...
or permits...
or land.
Wow, your paintings have brush marks.
(gasps)
And your statues have wieners!
Your words honor my family.
In the words of the old country:
Mangiare, i miei amici!
(chuckles): He’s talkin’ like the guy in Fat Albert.
(imitating Mushmouth): Howba areba youba?
Homer!
D’oh! (imitating Mushmouth): Whyba youba doba thatba?
Boss, the Calabresis are here for the sit-down.
The sit-down’s tonight?!
Again this Palm Pilot has failed to remind me.
I believe this needs to be hot-synced.
What are you doing?
I thought you meant
"hot-sync" it.
You know how it is with us-- everything means kill.
Sit-down item number one:
your recent murderous overtures with regard to my person.
We meant no disrespect, Fat Tony.
We were simply trying to kill you.
When we saw you driving that carpool,
we figured you’d gone soft, and were therefore whackable.
You’d be fools to kill me
for my son, Michael, would take my place.
And wreak a terrible vengeance.
I made soufflés!
(oohs and aahs)
I’ve tried to make those, but they always end up as brownies.
You said you meant to make brownies.
Any other lies?
(chewing loudly)
Mm...
Oh, this must be what angels taste like!
Oh, Michael, one bite of this soufflé
and your father will realize your gift deserves to flower.
Why can’t you do anything?
So, we are at peace once more.
Let us indulge in exaggerated displays of affection!
This guy, I love him!
Get over here!
My brother, over here!
You’re my everything, over here!
You color my world, over here!
Over here. Over here, over here.
Papa, I brought you some dessert.
(all chewing loudly)
My God, this is like a lap dance for my taste buds!
Ah, yeah!
The flavor just drove my sweet tooth
to a vacant lot and whacked it.
Hey, kid, what bakery did you boost these from?
Well, actually, I made them.
Papa, I want to be a chef.
(laughter)
A chef, huh?
Hey, look what we got here.
It’s Chef Boy-ar-gay!
What’s he gonna do if we rub you out,
serve our soup cold?
(laughter)
Well, gazpacho is served cold.
So take that.
(laughter)
Hey, Tony, catch you later.
Your kid’s got a bright future--
catering your funeral.
You know what I like?
Those little baby hot dogs.
Do they small down big ones or do they make ’em different?
Michael, you have made me appear weak
in the eyes of my enemies.
Fat Tony, it’s not important
what other people think of you.
What matters is how you feel inside.
(screams, groans)
Papa!
♪♪
Your father’s gonna be absolutely fine
in about three months.
But for now, he can’t talk, write, or blink.
(laughs)
With Fat Tony doing the morphine mambo,
the Calabresis are gonna try to put him down for a dirt nap.
Dirt nap, eh?
Hmm...
(snoring)
Homer, our house is on fire!
-Help me save the children! -(kids screaming)
Sorry, Marge, can’t hear you!
(laughing)
What am I gonna do now?
Kid, the only way you’re gonna live to grow shprazoot
on your abonjoola is if you take your dad’s place.
Let’s go.
Hey, can we go by the Lexus place?
I want to test drive that new hybrid.
You are a hybrid: half idiot, half moron.
Whoa!
Where did that come from? Whoa!
I don’t know what to do.
This is all my daughter’s fault.
But I’ll make it up to you.
Bart and I will run your business till your dad’s okay.
Well, what do you know about being a mob boss?
Everything!
And I learned it all from the greatest gangster film ever:
Shark Tale.
This guy in here owes us money.
Leave him to me.
Ow!
I hurt my fist and my palm.
I thought you guys were looking out for me.
Ow!
(sobbing)
All right, tap jockey,
you owe Fat Tony 50 bucks.
Cough it up!
Look, Mister, I-I don’t got the cash.
My clientele-- they’re all bums.
They never pay!
(grunts)
Just get the money!
Homer, the mob is putting the screws on me, see.
I ain’t getting killed ’cause you won’t pay your tab.
Now give me 50 bucks!
(whimpering): Take it, take it!
Just don’t hurt me!
Okay, pretty boy, where’s Fat Tony’s 50 bucks?
Look, all-all I got is 25.
I swear! I swear!
It’ll do for now!
(humming)
(laughs nervously)
Hey, hey, it’s Fat Tony’s crew!
How’s the big guy doing?
I sent flowers, but you probably didn’t get them.
You know florists. (chuckles)
Glug, glug.
Krusty, Fat Tony hasn’t received his weekly payment
for keeping McDonald’s and Burger King out of town.
Well, I’m a little short this week.
Could I just pay you $5 to keep out Hardee’s?
-(punches landing) -KRUSTY: Ow!
My schnoz! My punim! My pupik!
(punches landing)
My genechtagazoink!
(Krusty groans)
(horn honking)
Homer, where’d you get that truck?
Uh, it-it fell off a truck.
Uh, you know, a truck-truck.
(horn honking)
(tires screeching)
Where’d you get that?
Eh, it fell off a truck-truck truck.
(horn honking)
(brakes squeal)
MARGE: Homer, Helen Lovejoy never returned my casserole dish
from the church potluck.
Could you pick it up?
No problem.
I’ll be back in ten minutes.
Hi-diddily-ho, mob-areenos!
(sighs)
I, uh...
I got your, uh, phone bill in my mail by mistake,
and, uh...
I-I’ll just pay it.
(laughs)
(both laughing)
Dad, you want I should plug him in the ankle?
You monster!
Just cut his Achilles tendon with this knife.
(both laughing)
Bart, Mr. Simpson,
we are getting out of the mob business, right now.
But this is the only life I know!
I’m sorry.
I just can’t live with myself, seeing you this way.
-Can I still talk with my hands? -I’m afraid not.
-What about with my ears? -No.
(groans softly)
My friends, I surrender.
I’m handing over all my father’s territory,
in exchange for the safety of my family and the Simpsons.
Sorry.
We can only guarantee we won’t hurt them.
Yeah.
You know, they’ve still got to eat right and exercise.
Walk the dog once in a while.
He’s a furry little fitness machine.
Well said.
As for me, from now on,
my only business is cooking.
You did the right thing, Mikey.
You weren’t cut out to be a wise guy.
But you, you got a future in this business.
Call me.
Thanks, but I’m going into bootleg DVDs.
(chuckling)
It’s so great that Michael’s doing what he loves.
And I can stop looking the other way
from what my husband’s doing.
Lady.
Man.
Lady.
Man.
(leeringly): Lady.
(sighs)
(all grunting and choking)
(men groaning)
I want to be buried next to my wife,
under that bridge in Jersey.
(sniffs, gasps)
Someone poisoned these meatballs.
Homer?
Hey, if I poisoned them, would I be doing this?
(groans)
This is a chef’s worst nightmare.
I won’t be using this recipe anymore.
Well done, my son.
In making peace with our enemies,
you were able to take them down.
Perhaps you and I are not so different after all.
Papa, I’m just glad you’re okay.
Now get some rest.
Why didn’t you tell him it was an accident?
It was an accident, right?
Michael?
Don’t ever ask me about my business, Lisa.
Michael?
Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!
MICHAEL: Vroom! Vroom!
(continues making engine noises)
♪♪
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