Barry the Baptist: Hello son, would you like a lolly?
Little Chris: Piss off, you nonce!

Dog: What the fuck is that?
Mickey: It's me bren gun.
Dog: Couldn't you have thought of something more practical?

Eddie: Twenty grand, open.
"Hatchet" Harry: Thirty thousand. Back to you, already-Eddie.
Eddie: Fifty grand.
"Hatchet" Harry: Eighty grand.
Eddie: One hundred grand.
Player: Whoa, whoa, whoa, look fellas, I know...
"Hatchet" Harry: I know you're not in. Which means, no-one cares what you know.

Bacon: What's that?
Samoan Joe's Barman: It's a cocktail. You asked for a cocktail.
Bacon: No. I asked you to give me a refreshing drink. I wasn't expecting a fucking rainforest! You could fall in love with an orangutan in that!
Samoan Joe's Barman: You want a pint, you go to the pub.
Bacon: I thought this was a pub!
Samoan Joes Barman: It's a Samoan pub.

The entire British empire was built on cups of tea, and if you think I'm going to war without one, mate, you're mistaken.


When you dance with the devil, you wait for the song to stop.

Barry the Baptist

"Hatchet" Harry: You must be Eddie, J.D.'s son.
Eddie: Yeah. You must be Harry. Sorry, didn't know your father.
"Hatchet" Harry: Never mind son, you just might meet him if you carry on like that.

Barry the Baptist: Fucking northern monkeys!
Lenny: I hate these fucking southern fairies!

Eddie: Oh, and if Tom or anyone else for that matter feels like givin' them a bit of a kickin', I'm sure it won't do any harm.
Soap: Yeah, little bit of pain never hurt anybody. If you know what I mean. Also, I think knives are a good idea. Big, fuck-off shiny ones. Ones that look like they could skin a crocodile. Knives are good, because they don't make any noise, and the less noise they make, the more likely we are to use them. Shit 'em right up. Makes it look like we're serious. Guns for show, knives for a pro.
Tom: Soap, is there something we should know about you?
Bacon: I'm not sure what's more worrying. The job or your past.

Rory Breaker: What did you shoot him with, an air rifle?
Winston: Look, we grow weed. We're not mercenaries.
Rory Breaker: You don't say.

Can we lock up and get drunk now?


Lock, stock, the fuckin' lot.

Barry the Baptist

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