I understand. You found paradise in the 100 Acre Woods. You had a good trade, you made a good living. The police protected you and there were courts of law. So you didn't need a friend like me. Now you come and say "Don Bearleone, give me justice." But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me "Godfather." You come into my house on the day piglet is to be married and you ask me to do murder - for honey.