No fuckin shy, they British Rail cunts, eh? ah sais, nudgin the burd next tae us. — Pardon? it sais tae us, sortay soundin likes, ‘par-dawn’ ken? — Whair’s it yis come fae then? — Sorry, I can’t really understand you … These foreign cunts’ve goat trouble wi the Queen’s fuckin English, ken. Ye huv tae speak louder, slower, n likesay mair posh, fir the cunts tae understand ye. — WHERE … DO … YOU … COME … FROM? That dis the fuckin trick.
