Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels

Eddie:
They're armed.

Soap:
Armed, armed with what?

Eddie:
Err, bad breath, colorful language, feather duster... what do you think they're gonna be armed with? Guns, you tit!

Rory Breaker:
If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kinda p*ssy to drink it.

Nick the Greek:
I'll need a sample.

Tom:
Ahh, no can do I'm afraid.

Nick the Greek:
What's that? Some place near Katmandu? Meet me halfway, mate.

Tom:
Look, it's all completely chicken soup.

Nick the Greek:
It's what?

Tom:
It's kosher. As Christmas.

Nick the Greek:
The Jews don't celebrate Christmas, Tom.

Big Chris:
It's been emotional.

Tom:
There's no money, there's no weed. It's all been replaced by a pile of corpses.

Rory Breaker:
If you hold back anything, I'll kill ya. If you bend the truth or I think your bending the truth, I'll kill ya. If you forget anything I'll kill ya. In fact, you're gonna have to work very hard to stay alive, Nick. Now do you understand everything I've said? Because if you don't, I'll kill ya.

"Hatchet" Harry:
I don't want to know who you use, as long as they're not complete muppets.

Soap:
A minute ago this was the safest job in the world. Now it's turning into a bad day in Bosnia.

Winston:
Charles, get the rifle out. We're being f***ed.

Soap:
OY! Keep your fingers out of my soup!

Barry the Baptist:
If you don't want to be counting the fingers you haven't got, I suggest you get those guns. Quick!

Gary:
Shotguns? What, like guns that fire shot?

Barry the Baptist:
Oh, you must be the brains of the operation. Yes, guns that fire shot.

Winston:
We grow copious amounts of ganja here, and you're carrying a wasted girl and a bag of fertilizer. You don't look like your average horti-f***ing-culturalist.

Winston:
Charles,why have we got that cage?

Charles:
Uh,security.

Winston:
That's right, that's right security. So what's the point in having it if we're not goin' f***ing use it?

Charles:
Well I would've used it but this is Willie and Willie lives here.

Winston:
Yes but you didn't know it was Willie until you opened the door did you?

Willie:
Chill Winston, it's me. Charlie knows it's me. What's the problem?

Winston:
The problem is Willie is that Charles and yourself are not the quickest of cats at the best of times. So just do as I say and keep *the f***ing cage locked!* What is that?

Willie:
That's Gloria.

Winston:
Yes I know that's Gloria, what's that?

Willie:
Fertilizer.

Winston:
You went out six hours to buy a money counter and you come back with a semi-conscious Gloria and a back of fertilizer. Alarm bells are ringing Willie.

Willie:
We need fertilizer Winston.

Winston:
Mmmhmm. We also need a money counter. This money's got to be out by Thursday, I'm buggered if I'm gonna count it. Just make sure if you do need to buy sodding fertilizer could be a bit more subtle.

Willie:
What do you mean?

Winston:
We grow copious amounts of ganja, yah. And you're carrying a wasted girl and a bag of fertilizer. You don't look like your average horti-f***ing- culturalist! That's what I mean Willie.

Plank:
Ah! They f***ing shot me!

Dog:
Well, f***ing shoot 'em back!

John:
Jesus, Plank, couldn't you have got smokeless cartridges? I can't see a bloody thi - Ah! Sh*t! I've been shot!

Dog:
I don't f***ing believe this! Can everyone stop gettin' shot?

Little Chris:
F***in' hell John, do you always walk around with this in your pocket?

Big Chris:
Hey! You use language like that again son, you'll wish you hadn't!

Big Chris:
All right, son: roll them guns up, count the money, and put your seat belt on.

J:
I've a strong suspicion we should have been rocket scientists, or Nobel Peace Prize winners or something.

Charles:
Peace Prize? Ooh. Be lucky to find your penis for a piss, the amount you keep smoking.

Tom:
It's not worth him giving us any trouble, 'cause he knows we'll be a pain in the arse, and who needs a pain in the arse?

Soap:
I'd take a pain in the arse for half a million quid.

Tom:
You'd take a pain in the arse for air miles.

Tom:
Well, he can afford to do the deal at the price we're selling. It's not worth him giving us any trouble cause he kows we'll be a pain in the arse.

Soap:
I'd take a pain in the arse for half a million quid.

Tom:
You'd take a pain in the arse for air miles.

Soap:
Tom, the fatter you get, the sadder you get.

Eddie:
Will you two stop flirting for a minute?

Soap:
Where the f*** are they going?... Shift a piano? I thought this was meant to be a robbery.

Eddie:
Where did they get those outfits?

Tom:

Soap:
Rory Breaker? That psychotic black dwarf with an Afro?

Tom:
That would be the same man, yes.

Soap:
You're not funny, Tom. You're fat, and look as though you should be, but you're not.

Nick the Greek:
What else does it come with?

Tom:
It comes with a gold-plated Rolls Royce, as long as you pay for it.

Nick the Greek:
Dunno. Seems expensive.

Tom:
Seems? Well, this seems to be a complete waste of my time. That, my friend, is 900 nicker in any store you're lucky enough to find one in. And you're haggling over 200 pound? What school of finance did you come from Nick? "It's a deal, it's a steal, it's the Sale of the f***ing Century!" In fact, f*** it Nick, I think I'll keep it!

Nick the Greek:
Alright alright, keep your Alans on!

Nick the Greek:
Here's a ton.

Tom:

Eddie:
You could choke a dozen donkeys on that! And you're haggling over one hundred pound? What're you doing when you're not buying stereos Nick? Finance revolutions?

Nick the Greek:
100 pound is still 100 pound.

Tom:
Not when the price is 200 pound it ain't! And certainly not when you've got Liberia's deficit in your skyrocket. Tighter than a duck's butt you are. Now, lemme feel the fibre of your fabric.

Tom:
It's a deal. It's a steal. It's sale of the f***ing century! Actually, f*** it, Nick, I think I'll keep it.

Gary:
What the f*** are you doing here?

Barry the Baptist:
Lock, stock, the f***in' lot.

Bacon:
Right. Let's sort the buyers from the spyers, the needy from the greedy, and those who trust me from the ones who don't, because if you can't see value here today, you're not up here shopping. You're up here shoplifting. You see these goods? Never seen daylight, moonlight, Israelite. Fanny by the gaslight. Take a bag, c'mon take a bag. I took a bag home last night. Cost me a lot more than ten pound, I can tell you. Anyone like jewelry? Look at that one there. Handmade in Italy, hand-stolen in Stepney. It's as long as my arm. I wish it was as long as something else. Don't think because these boxes are sealed up, they're empty. The only man who sells empty boxes is the undertaker, and by the look of some of you lot today, I'd make more money with me measuring tape. Here, one price. Ten pound.

Eddie:
Did you say ten pound?

Bacon:
Are you deaf?

Eddie:
That's a bargain. I'll take one.

Bacon:
Squeeze in if you can. Left leg, right leg, your body will follow. They call it walking. You want one as well, darling? You do? That's it. They're waking up. Treat the wife. Treat your friend's wife. It's a lot more fun if you don't get caught. Hold on. You want one as well? Okay, darling, show me a bit of life then. It's no good standing out there like one o'clock half-struck. Buy them, you better buy them. These are not stolen, they just haven't been paid for, and we can't get them again. They've changed the bloody locks. Here. One for you. It's no good coming back later when I've sold out. "Too late, too late" will be the cry when the man with the bargains has passed you by. If you got no money on you now, you'll be crying tears as big as October cabbages.

Eddie:
Bacon, cozzers!

Bacon:
Sh*t.

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.

Soap:
Also, I think knives are a good idea. Big, f***-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. Sh*t 'em right up. Makes it look like we're serious. Guns for show, knives for a pro.

Eddie:
Oh, and if Tom or if 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. Also, I think knives are a good idea. Big, f***-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. Sh*t 'em right up. Makes it look like we're serious. Guns for show, knives for a pro.

Tom:
Soap, I don't know which is scarier. The job or your past.

Barry the Baptist:
F***ing northern monkeys!

Lenny:
I hate these f***ing southern fairies!

"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.

Eddie:
Soap, don't be such a mincer.

Rory Breaker:
Is this some white c*nts joke that black c*nts don't get? 'Cause I'm not f***ing laughing Nicholas.

Rory Breaker:
Get Nick, that greasy wop, shistos, pesevengi, gamouri Greek bastard, if he's stupid enough to still be on this planet.

Bacon:
Harry didn't think that he did a very good job, so he grabbed the nearest thing to hand, which just so happened to be a 15 inch black rubber cock, and proceeded to beat poor old Smithy to death with. And that was seen as a nice way to go. Now, that, is why you pay Hatchet Harry, when you owe.

Rory Breaker:
Your stupidity may be your one saving grace.

Nick the Greek:
Uuugh?

Rory Breaker:
Don't "uuugh" me, Greek boy!

Soap:
Can we lock up and get drunk now?

Samoan Joe:
He then proceeds to order an Aristotle of the most ping-pong tiddly in the Nuclear sub.

Tom:
Rory Breaker?

Barfly Jack:
Rory? Yeah I know Rory. He's not to be underestimated, you've got to look past the distinct facade. A few nights ago Rory's Roger iron rusted, so he has gone to the battle-cruiser to watch the end of a football game. Nobody is watching the custard so he has turned the channel over. A fat man's north opens and he wanders up and turns the Liza over. 'Now f*** off and watch it somewhere else.' Rory knows claret is imminent, but he doesn't want to miss the end of the game; so, calm as a coma, he stands and picks up a fire extinguisher and he walks straight past the jam rolls who are ready for action, then he plonks it outside the entrance. He then orders an Aristotle of the most ping pong tiddly in the nuclear sub and switches back to his footer. 'That's f***ing it,' says the guy. 'That's f***ing what' says Rory. Rory gobs out a mouthful of booze covering fatty; he flicks a flaming match into his bird's nest and the man lit up like a leaking gas pipe. Rory, unfazed, turned back to watch his game. His team won too. Four-nil.

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

Eddie:
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.

Gary:
So who's the gov'? Who we doing this for?

Barry the Baptist:
You're doing it for me, that's all you need to know. You know because you need to know.

Gary:
I see. One of them "on a need to know basis" things is it. Like one of them James Bond films.

Barry the Baptist:
Careful. Remember who's giving you this job.

Tom:
Listen to this one then; you open a company called the Arse Tickler's F*ggot Fan Club. You take an advert in the back page of some gay mag, advertising the latest in arse-intruding d*ldos, sell it a bit with, er... I dunno, "does what no other dildo can do until now", latest and greatest in sexual technology. Guaranteed results or money back, all that bollocks. These dills cost twenty-five each; a snip for all the pleasure they are going to give the recipients. They send a cheque to the company name, nothing offensive, er, Bobbie's Bits or something, for twenty-five. You put these in the bank for two weeks and let them clear. Now this is the clever bit. Then you send back the cheques for twenty-five pounds from the real company name, Arse Tickler's F*ggot Fan Club, saying sorry, we couldn't get the supply from America, they have sold out. Now you see how many of the people cash those cheques; not a single soul, because who wants his bank manager to know he tickles arses when he is not paying in cheques!

Rory Breaker:
Is that so, mister botanical?

Big Chris:
I've got some bad news for you, John.

John:
What the f***?

Big Chris:
Mind your language in front of the boy!

John:
Jesus Christ!

Big Chris:
That includes blasphemy as well!

Soap:
A little bit of pain never hurt anybody, if you know what I mean.

Don:
I'll fold.

Phil:
Fold? Is that the only word you learnt at school?

Don:
No, I also learned the word c*nt!

Bacon:
What's that?

Bacon:
No. I asked for a refreshing drink! I didn't expect a f***ing rainforest? I could fall in love with an orangutan in that! Bring me a pint.

Bacon:
This is a pub!

Tom:
They lack any kind of criminal credibility. I might get laughed at.

Dog:
What the f*** is that?

Mickey:
It's me bren gun.

Dog:
Couldn't you have thought of something more practical?

Barry the Baptist:
Hello son, would you like a lolly?

Little Chris:
Piss off, you nonce!

Paul:
Come take a look at this.

Traffic Warden:
Take a look at what, exactly?

Paul:
Well, the van's half-full. So all I have to do is fill it up, put you in it,

Paul:
and I'm off.

Barry the Baptist:
[turns around from stripper] Right, where was we?

Gary:
Shotguns? Well, like guns that fire shots?

Barry the Baptist:
Oh, you must be the brains, then. That's right, guns that fire shots. Make sure you bring everything from inside the gun cabinet. There'll be a load of old guns, that's all I want. Everything else, outside the cabinet, you can keep, it's yours.

Gary:
[sarcastically] Oh, thank you very much. There better be something there for us.

Barry the Baptist:
It's a f***ing stately home. Of course there'll be something there.

Dean:
Like what?

Barry the Baptist:
Like f***ing antiques.

Dean:
Antiques? What the f*** do we know about antiques? We rob post offices …

Gary:
… and steal cars.

Dean:
What the f*** do we know about antiques, mate?

Barry the Baptist:
If it looks old, it's worth money. Simple. So stop f***ing moaning and rob the place!

Gary:
So who's the Guv? Who we doing this for?

Barry the Baptist:
You're doing it for me is all you need to know. You know because you need to know.

Gary:
I see. One of those "on a need to know basis" things, is it? Like one of those James Bond films.

Barry the Baptist:
Careful. Remember who's giving you this job. … Right, I'm off. Call me when you're done. Ta-ta.

[He gets up and walks off]

Barry the Baptist:
F***ing northern monkeys!

Gary:
I hate these f***ing southern fairies.

Security #1:
[upon seeing Eddie and friends] Invitations.

Eddie:
Invitations?

Security #2:
Yeah, invitations. You know, four pretty white pieces of paper with your names on.

Eddie:
Well, we've got a 100.000 bits of paper with the Queen's head on. Will that do?

Security #2:
All right, just you. The others, they can wait next door in Samoan Jo's.

Eddie:
Samoan Jo's, you mean the pub? Hold on …

Security #2:
[interrupting Eddie] Hold on to your f***ing tongue, and I will hold on to my patience, okay, sonny? No one in here tonight but card players, and I do mean no one.

[At Samoan's Jo's]

Bacon:
What's that?

Barman:
It's a cocktail. You asked for a cocktail.

Bacon:
No, I asked you to give me a refreshing drink! Wasn't expecting a f***ing rainforest. You could fall in love with an orangutan in there!

Barman:
You want a pint, go to the pub.

Bacon:
I thought this was a pub!

Barman:
It's a Samoan pub.

Don:
Fold.

Phil:
Fold? Is that the only word they taught you at school, Donald?

Don:
No, Phil. They also taught me the word "c*nt"!

Bacon:
The odds are a hundred to one. All we need is five grand.

Soap:
I'd rather put my money on a three-legged rocking horse. The odds are a hundred to one for a good reason, Bacon. It won't win!

Barry the Baptist:
(points at Gary's hair) Oi, is your hair supposed to look like that? Alright, short stuff?

Dean:
Never mind short stuff. Listen, the next time we do a job like this we gonna want more money Barry, or we are going back to post offices and cars, f*** that. (opens the trunk with the guns)

Barry the Baptist:
Where's the others?

Dean:
There we no others.

Barry the Baptist:
Stop f***ing around. The others, the old ones?

Dean:
I don't know what you mean.

Barry the Baptist:
There were two old guns there. Where're they now?

Dean:
Not in the cabinet there wasn't. There was a couple of old hammer-lock muskets the butler was carrying, but they were ours - were sold 'em!

Barry the Baptist:
Well you better un-sell 'em, sharpish.

Dean:
We had to sell 'em, we needed the money!

Barry the Baptist:
I'm not f***ing interested! If you don't want to be countin' the fingers you haven't got, or sharing a bed with the Anti-Christ, I want those guns! QUICK!

Dean:
...Alright, Barry. Calm down. We'll get them, alright?

Barry the Baptist:
Now f*** off, you scouse c*nts!

Eddie:
Right. We hit them as soon as they come back. We'll be prepared, waiting. And they're armed …

Soap:
What was that? Armed? What do you mean, armed? Armed with what?

Eddie:
Er, bad breath, colourful language, feather duster … what do you think they're gonna be armed with? Guns, you tit!

Soap:
Guns? You never said anything about guns. A minute ago this was the safest job in the world. Now it's turning into a bad day in Bosnia!

Eddie:
Soap, stop being such a mincer. I've thought about that, and …

Soap:
And what, exactly?

Eddie:
And, all we have to do is find out who's carrying them.

Soap:
Carrying them? Well, they could all be carrying them for what we know!

Eddie:
No. Only one of them carries them going to the job, so I assume the same one will be carrying them when they come back from the job.

Soap:
Oh, you assume, do you? And what did they say about assumptions being the brother of all f***-ups?

Tom:
It's the mother of all f***-ups, stupid.

Soap:
Well, brother, mother, or any other sucker! It don't make any difference. They're still f***ing guns, and they still fire f***ing bullets!

Nick the Greek:
Weed?

Tom:
No, it's not normal weed. It's some f***ed-up skunk, class A, I-can't-think-let-alone-move sh*t.

Nick the Greek:
Doesn't sound very good to me.

Tom:
Well, neither me. But it depends what flicks your switch. And the light is on and burning brightly for the masses. Anyway, do you know anyone?

Nick the Greek:
I know a man, yes. Rory Breaker.

Tom:
Not that madman with an afro? I don't want anything to do with him.

Nick the Greek:
You won't have to. Just get me a sample.

Tom:
No can do.

Nick the Greek:
What's that? A place near Katmandu? Meet me halfway, mate.

Tom:
Look, it's all completely chicken soup.

Nick the Greek:
It's what?

Tom:
It's kosher. As Christmas.

Nick the Greek:
The Jews don't celebrate Christmas, Tom.

Tom:
Well, never mind that. I'm gonna need some artillery too, couple of sawn-off shot-guns.

Nick the Greek:
This is a bit heavy. This is London, not the Lebanon. Who do you think I am?

Tom:
Think you're Nick the Greek.

Big Chris:
He likes your bar.

J.D.:
Yes.

Big Chris:
He wants your bar!

J.D.:
And?

Big Chris:
Do you want me to draw you a picture?

Soap:
Have a look at these. [hands Tom a ski mask]

Eddie:
And what are we supposed to do with these?

Soap:
[puts it on] Put them on your head, stupid!

Eddie:
[pulls it off him] Christ.

Soap:
If you think I'm gonna turn up there clean-shaven and greet them with a grin on my face, you've got another thing coming! Now, these fellas, they are your neighbors. I thought it might be a good idea to disguise ourselves a little!

Eddie:
Right. Er, yeah, good thinking, Soap, well done.

Soap:
I brought weapons as well.

Eddie:
What do you mean, weapons?

Soap:
[pulls a bundle from his coat and unrolls it, revealing large knives] These.

Eddie:
Jesus! [grabs the bundle and rerolls it] Let's keep them covered up, eh? Couldn't you get anything bigger?

Soap:
[pulls a big ass machete from his trousers] What, like that? What do you think?

Eddie:
… I think you need help.

Soap:
Where'd you get these? A f***ing museum?

Tom:
Nick the Greek.

Bacon:
How much did you part with?

Tom:
700 for the pair.

Soap:
Drachmas, I hope. I'd feel safer with a chicken drumstick. These are gonna do more harm than good.

Plank:
[gets hit with an air rifle] Ah! They f***ing shot me!

Dog:
Well, shoot them back!

Plank:
[shoots wildly]

John:
Jesus, Plank, couldn't you have got smokeless cartridges? I can't see a bloody thi– ah! Sh*t! I've been shot.

Dog:
I don't f***ing believe this! Can everyone stop getting shot?

Paul:
Look. Come have a look.

Traffic Warden:
Take a look at what, exactly?

Paul:
Well, the van's half-full.

Traffic Warden:
So?

Paul:
So all I've got to do is fill it up, put you in it …

Traffic Warden:
What?

[Paul knocks the warden out]

Paul:
… and I'm off.

Eddie:
Anyway, f*** it. The battle is over and the war is won.

Eddie:
No, f*** that. You can think about it. I am panicking and I'm off.

Eddie:
[To Tom about the guns] So, the only thing connecting us to the case is in the back of your car, which is parked outside?

Bacon:
[To Dog holding up a gun] Bend over the f***ing desk!

Soap:
Cupid, stupid!

Rory Breaker:
What do you want, a medal? I'll shoot you in the f***ing throat if I don't get my ganja back!

Rory Breaker:
Mr. Breaker. Today, my name is Mr. Breaker!

Rory Breaker:
This white shite thinks he can steal my cannabis and sell it back to me? He's got less brains than you, Lenny! Get Nick, the greasy wop, shistos, pesevengi, gamouri Greek bastard, round here now, if he's still stupid enough to be on this planet!

Rory Breaker:
We're gonna do a proper decoration job. I want the grey skies of London illuminated. I want that house painted red.

Barry The Baptist:
No mortgages, no debts – lock, stock, the f***ing lot.

Barry The Baptist:
[Trying to stop his monitor switching off] Come on! Not now, please, not – [monitor goes off] oh, you f***ing bastard.

Barry The Baptist:
Hello boy, feeling a bit poorly? I know your friends are responsible for most of the cash, so I'm gonna give you one week to find it. Otherwise, I will take a finger of each of you and your friends' hands for every day that passes without payment. And then, when you run out of digits, your dad's bar, and who knows what then. All right, my son?

Dog:
Golf – the best way to spoil a good walk. Winston Churchill said that. I say it's a dog-eat-dog world. And I got bigger teeth than you two.

J.D.:
You're lucky you're still breathing, let alone able to walk. I suggest you take full advantage of that fact.

Tom:
They're lacking in criminal credibility, ain't they? I might get laughed at.