Wake Up, Mate, Don't You Sleep

WAKE UP, MATE, DON'TYOU SLEEP

Proudly, proudly, chin up! Come on, come on!

Come on, come here to the guitar! Here, here, here, stand here, ok?

We'll change your appearance a bit. Come and stand by the guitar, ok?

Listen, it's ok. It's ok, see?

Grab the guitar.

Grab the guitar. It's ok, it's ok.

Ladies and gentleman. We welcome you all.

Don't worry, don't worry.

Today, we'll show you how someone becomes a star.

For example, we got this guy. We got this Hungarian kid...

- Are you a reformed church member? - Leave it, it's not... why is that?

- Whatever, I said... you don't need to talk... not yet. - Ok.

The rate at which the pop profession is growing, showed us that we need a guy,

an idol, a hero, a Herodotus in Greek,

a "circazes", if you please...

we are going to teach you tonight, how a pop star is born.

Because... what do we have to work with? We have to work with the past.

We don't compare to the past and we don't reach back to the past, we steal the past.

That's why we are here in the beautiful place...

and, there in that corner, a kid was shot in the head in '44.

The lady who did it told us... and we're going to shoot a great video clip here.

We found a great subject. We have to work on him a bit,

we'll fix him up. Can you play guitar?

- What's your name please? - Andras Lovasi.

That's why we picked you. A real Hungarian name Havasi... Andras Havasi.

Agood Hungarian name, because that's what people like.

Reformed church member, Hungarian kid, his hair sticks up a bit.

That's great. Smile please! His teeth are fine...

The glasses make him look intelligent. They'll love him!

We'll make him an image... Can you play?

- Well... - Andras, right?

It's ok, we'll teach you. I think, with this guy,

we can make something, that Hungary hasn't seen before.

The girls will love him, the boys will love him.

Because, there's something intelligent, something exciting about him,

though... we won't... he's not too young, so we won't make him like...

- Excuse me, but we're professionals... - Ok, ok, ok...

A professional doesn't get insulted ... and there are...

Next time give him a closer shave, ok? I can't work in these conditions.

We're going to fix up the kid, give him an image.

Play the guitar! Are you from the projects?

- I started from there... - A kid from the projects, who can play,

smokes, swears, pimps, smooches. You can play, believe in yourself!

- Grab it... grab it like this! - I can't.

- They're going to eat it up. - What? - This.

- What you showed me outside? - Yes, yes, yes, that one, you know.

Don't be, don't be so... that's it, yes and smile! But not too much...

be relaxed, you know. Like... like you're above this... that's it, that's it...

above them all, ok? You'll have a different jacket.

Strum it, strum it non-stop, you don't stop, ever, never, understand?

Like on stage. If you're up on stage anything can happen,

but you can stop, ok? The chick in the crowd. Think about that,

the chicks will love you, they'll come up to you after: "what about that poem".

Recite a poem, but not some senseless, crazy thing,

from art films... horses and...

Jutka swimming across the stream. Don't be silly, but,

properly, for the kids. Something they will get, ok?

You know, you know, something known, right, you know what I mean.

Something... you're a child of this age, no? Ok, maybe five years older.

- Listen... what about... - Does it matter? Let's go!

Yes? Yes? Go! Do it and we'll swoon.

- That's the... - Listen... I think we have to break down...

Listen, listen, we have to break down the wall that blokes you, ok? We'll break it down.

Right, right, close and sing, sing!

Don't worry about anything!

- Pretty brown haired girl... - Pretty brown haired girl...

- Swoon over me... - Swoon over me...

- Stroke my hair... - Stroke my hair...

- My diopter... - My diopter...

Yourself, put yourself into it, so... Who you are.

- This is hard. - Havasi... Havasi, right?

But I can't do it.

Whatever, then dance, I'll do it.

Right, right! Go on, do it! Be manly!

Pretty...

How did it go?

Pretty brown haired girl...

Stroke my... hair...

Make the mistakes your strength!

Love my diopter...

Be yourself...

- Yourself. - Pretty brown haired girl...

- Yourself. - Be yourself...

- Yourself. - Love my diopter...

- Yourself. - Pretty brown haired girl...

- Yourself. - Pretty brown haired girl...

How many home moons, how many useless

livestock kept for their souls,

How many damaged faces, how many burnt out eyes,

How much do you need to get away with?

Scarred, are there any sick, are there any dreams, are there any ideas,

Or are they all going into the wood chipper?

How much unburied stupidity do you carry around,

How many reasons have you found, that have no cause...

- Come on, everybody out! - Come on, out, go, faster!

- Come on! - Hurry up!

- Don't touch me! - Why, what's up?

Let my friend go! You should be ashamed.

Hey, Kapa, what is this? Where are we? When is this?

This ill-mannered bunch, what a tone of voice!

- I want to talk to your boss. - Be quiet!

- You'll talk to him in a minute. - Leave them be!

Leave them? Who is the boss? I want to talk to him.

- Get going! - I can't follow this anymore, I think.

Ill-mannered rabble. Unbelievable.

I guarantee that this will come with a price.

Do you have a light, Petikem!

There will be consequences.

Here.

- The tone of voice, unbelievable. - Why won't this go out?

- Sorry. - Don't apologise to them!

Hey! Didn't you say this will be a funeral?

- Yes, we came for our own funeral, Petikem. - Really?

Fuck! I'm thirsty.

Give him something to drink!

- You only have coke? - Thanks, that's good, I like it.

- You shouldn't be picky at your own funeral. - Right.

- See, that's what I hate about coke, rot in... - Wow, this is shit!

Take that, bastards!

See! Like I said, consequences for the bastard style and tone of voice.

I ask nicely... for a while.

Act like bastards, then expect a shit storm.

Happy new songs on our lips,

no sorrow in our hearts, says the song.

Our songs fill the town and the house,

Young and old sing outalike...

- Sorry. - Fuck you, get it, fuck you...

I've never seen such a beautiful cemetery.

Right, Petikem. This is a cemetery for the 3rd millennium.

Really? Look, the dead have moved away. Look!

It's so great that you're such an arse.

- I have this. - What the fuck is that?

- Awreath. - I can see that, but why the fuck do you have it?

That's what you bring to a funeral, no?

To a Jewish funeral? Get rid of it, you animal!

I swear, you're driving me insane.

- Fine, I'll put it up here. - You do that.

We should have put you on a bier a long time ago, you arse!

- Look, it's a machine gun! - Put it down, don't touch it!

- It's cool. - Isn't there enough chaos here? I said, put down the machine gun! You hear?

Hey, didn't the script call for a rusty one?

Stop messing around! Are you trying to kill me?

I was just, is this the trigger?

Oops!

Well, play around with your fucking mother, or you little dick!

- Sorry. - You dickhead!

- What? - What? What? What?

- Ok, so it fired, the gun fired. - Your father's dick, that's what fired,

that's why you're so dumb. Greetings, Mr. Jancso!

- Greetings! - Shut up!

How are you, Mr. Jancso?

- What did he say? - Ssh...

Yes, yes we are fine too, thank you.

- He said no one could be better. - Really?

Shut up... pardon? Oh, ok. Of course, for sure.

What? What was that?

He said, I should bitch slap you.

Mr. Jancso! Calm down, you're not alone anymore, we're here...

- The idiot Pepe. - And Pisti Marton.

- The dickhead Pisti Marton. - Me too of course.

And the homo Galko. The gang is back together.

Ok!

1, 2, 3, 4...

It's raining, yeah, yeah,

raining on field flowers,

On the poor soldiers, yeah, yeah,

velvet forehead,

Raining, getting wet,

the poor soldier is cold,

play the song, yeah, yeah...

...raining, getting wet,

the poor soldier is cold,

Play the song, yeah, yeah,

we'll get drenched before we get home.

How many home moons, how many useless

Livestock kept for their souls,

How many damaged faces, how many burnt out eyes,

How much do you need to get away with?

Scarred, are there any sick, are there any dreams, are there any ideas,

Or are they all going into the wood chipper?

How much unburied stupidity do you carry around,

How many reasons have you found, that have no cause?

Butwith sex and the sports news

Time passes and you lie there

awake at night, wondering is everyone dead?

If itworks, it works easily,

It's become easy to be mean.

Teenagers throw up sleet,

Then count their money, to see how much,

In the movies they yell out the ending,

And they heal nothing with sex,

They dream, that it's someone else's fault,

They look up and say: It doesn't hurt,

I said, it doesn't hurt,

I said, it doesn't hurt,

I said, it doesn't hurt,

It's a scar and there is probably no one on your land,

I walk at night on a rugged road, only my moon can come with me,

Butwith sex and a lot of theories