Billy Elliot the Musical Live Page #3

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- I don't.

- 50p.

You, bonny lad, are getting your 50p's

worth whether you like it or not.

But look, everybody else is going home.

Aye.

That's because they've done their boxing.

See you, George.

See you, sunshine.

Wanker!

Oi, Michael, where you going now?

I need the gents'. I give up!

Jesus Christ! Right!

In this alternative universe

that we have created for ourselves,

you are Muhammad Ali

and you are Cassius Clay.

Right. Hit him.

Do I have to?

Well, of course you have to hit him.

It's boxing, not flippin' macram!

What, man?

Please, sir, can I have a word?

Aye, you can have two.

- Bugger and off!

- Ow!

His dad doesn't even like him coming.

You can shut your cake hole,

or else I'll clip you myself.

All right, smart aleck. You hit him.

Ding, ding, ding! Seconds out. Round one.

Come on. Let's do a bit of boxing.

That's what we're here to do.

Howay, son! Put a bit of beef into it.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Whoa!

Shirley Bassey, what the

hell are you doing?

I'm just trying to put him off.

Put him off? It's not a

bloody tea dance, man.

- Hit him in the head.

- Are you sure?

Of course I'm sure. Twat

the little bastard!

Well, get up.

Sorry, Billy.

"Sorry, Billy"?

"Sorry, Billy."

"Sorry, Billy"?

What do mean, "Sorry, Billy"?

He's supposed to hit you,

you're supposed to hit him.

It's boxing!

- Jesus Christ!

- Are you all right?

Well, of course he's all right,

you stupid fat fanny.

Howay, Michael, come on.

Let's show him how it's done.

Give us a left.

And a right.

And a left. You see...

You little bastard!

- Sorry, George.

- Piss off.

You can stay where you are.

- But...

- No buts about it.

You're a disgrace to your father,

to them gloves,

and to the fine traditions

- of this boxing hall.

- ...of this boxing hall.

I'm off to the picket line.

You can stay here and practise

with the punch bag by yourself.

Aye, and make sure Mrs Wilkinson

gets these keys before you leave.

Who?

She's coming.

Chairs!

Oi, Rocky, bugger off.

And arms!

Alison Summers, get that coat off!

Full pli.

Get rid of the pie, Tracey Atkinson. Up.

I'm telling you, Tracey,

you will end up like your mother.

And second!

Miss, the keys!

- Who the hell are you?

- Billy. Billy Elliot.

Oh, pleased to meet you. I'm Margot.

Margot flippin' Fonteyn.

It was a rhetorical question.

Now piss off up there.

Keeley Gibson,

how many times have I got to tell you?

But miss, my mum...

I don't care if your mother

has got cerebral palsy.

You have to bring your shoes.

Try to keep your arm in line

Come on, at least pretend you're doing fine

Don't forget the golden rule, girls.

Never hide your light under a bushel.

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