Elmer Fudd:
[
has Sylvester at gunpoint] Now I've got you, and I'm gonna wub you out compwetwy.
Sylvester:
Now just a minute, my fine feathered friend. Ain't you got no aesthetic sense? No ear for musical appreciation?
Elmer Fudd:
No, and I'm gonna bwow you to smitheweens.
Sylvester:
[
singing] Go to sleep, go to sleep...
Elmer Fudd:
[
getting sleepy] Stop it.
Sylvester:
...shut your big, blood-shot eyes...
Elmer Fudd:
Now you stop that.
[
falls asleep]
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