Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels

Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels quotes

69 total quotes (ID: 353)

Bacon
Barry the Baptist
Eddie
Multiple Characters
Rory Breaker
Soap
Tom


Bacon: What's that?
Samoan Joe's Barman: It's a ****tail. You asked for a ****tail.
Bacon: No. I asked you to give me a refreshing drink! I didn't expect a ****ing rainforest! You could fall in love with an orangutan in there! Bring me a pint.
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.


Nick the Greek: [haggling with Tom] 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 ****ing Century!" In fact, **** it Nick, I think I'll keep it!
Nick the Greek: Alright alright, keep your Alans on!
[pulls a massive wad of money out of his pocket]
Nick the Greek: Here's a ton.
Tom, Eddie: Jesus Christ!
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? Financing 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 come on, lemme feel the fiber of your fabric.

Nick the Greek: Weed?
Tom: Nah, it's not normal weed. Some ****ed-up skunk, class A, can't-think-let-a-lone-move shit.
Nick the Greek: Doesn't sound 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 mad-man 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: Ahh, 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. We're 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.

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' ****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 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 ****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 bag 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-****ing-culturist! That's what I mean Willie.

Barfly Jack: Rory? Yeah I know Rory. He's not to be underestimated. He's a funny-looking ****er I know, but you've got to look past the hair and the cute, cuddly thing - it's all a deceptive facade. A few nights ago Rory's Roger iron's busted, so he's gone down the battle-cruiser to watch the end of the football game. No one's watching the custard so he switches the channel over. A fat geezer's north opens and he wanders up and turns the Liza over, "Now **** off and watch it somewhere else." He knows claret is imminent, but he doesn't want to miss the end of the game; so, calm as a coma, picks up a fire extinguisher, walks straight past the jam rolls who are ready for action, and 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 ****ing it," says the geezer. "That's ****ing what?" says Rory. And he gobs out a mouthful of booze covering fatty; he flicks a flaming match into his bird's nest and the geezer's lit up like a leaking gas pipe. Rory, unfazed, turns back to his game. His team's won too. Four-nil.

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 somebody else'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: Shit.

Tom: Listen to this one: You open a company called the Arse Tickler's ****s Fan Club.
Soap: You what?
Tom: You take out an advert in the back page of some gay mag, advertising the latest in arse-intruding dildos, you sell it with, I dunno, "does what no other dildo can do until now", "the latest and greatest in sexual technology", "guaranteed results or your money back", all that bollocks. Now these dils cost twenty-five quid a pop - as a snip for the amount of pleasure they're gonna give the recipients. But they send their cheques to the other company name, nothing offensive, er, Bobbie's Bits or something, for twenty-five quid. You take that twenty-five quid, you stick it in the bank until it clears. Now this is the smart bit - you send back the cheque for twenty-five pound from the other company name, "Arse Tickler's ****s Fan Club", saying, "We're sorry, we couldn't get the supplies from America because they run out of stock". Now you see how many people cash that cheque - not a single soul, because who wants their bank manager to know they tickle arse when they're not paying cheques?
Bacon: So how long do you have to wait until you see a return?
Tom: Probably no more than four weeks.
Bacon: A month? So, what ****ing good is that if we need it in six - no, five days?
Tom: Well, it's still a good idea.

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.

Listen to this one: You open a company called the Arse Tickler's ****s Fan Club. You take out an advert in the back page of some gay mag, advertising the latest in arse-intruding dildos, you sell it with, I dunno, "does what no other dildo can do until now", "the latest and greatest in sexual technology", "guaranteed results or your money back", all that bollocks. Now these dils cost twenty-five quid a pop - as a snip for the amount of pleasure they're gonna give the recipients. But they send their cheques to the other company name, nothing offensive, er, Bobbie's Bits or something, for twenty-five quid. You take that twenty-five quid, you stick it in the bank until it clears. Now this is the smart bit - you send back the cheque for twenty-five pound from the other company name, "Arse Tickler's ****s Fan Club", saying we're sorry, we couldn't get the supplies from America because they ran out of stock. Now you see how many people cash that cheque - not a single soul, because who wants their bank manager to know they tickle arse when they're not paying cheques?

Tom: [after having just robbed Dog and his crew] Jesus, that wasn't too bad, was it?
Soap: When the bottle in my arse has contracted, I'll let you know.
Eddie: Bacon, see what we've got.
Bacon: Let's have a butcher's, eh?
[He inspects the loot]
Bacon: We've hit the jackpot, lads! We've got God-knows-how-much of this stinking weed, a shitload of cash... and a traffic warden.
Tom: What?
[Bacon holds up an unconscious man]
Tom: Jesus, Ed, we've got a traffic warden!
Bacon: I think he's still alive -- he's got claret coming out of him somewhere. What did they want with a traffic warden?
Eddie: I don't know, but I don't think we need him! Knock him out and dump him at the lights!
Bacon: Knock him out? What'd ya mean, knock him out? Knock him out with what?
Eddie: I don't know! Use your imagination!
[Bacon punches the Traffic Warden, who moans in pain.]
Tom: Don't touch him up! Knock him out!
Bacon: I'll knock you out in a minute! Look, you want to knock him out? You knock him out.
Eddie: I ****ing hate traffic wardens.
[After a pause, Tom and Eddie jump into the back of the van with Bacon; all three proceed to batter the Traffic Warden senseless.]

Barry the Baptist: ****ing northern monkeys!
Gary: I hate these ****ing southern fairies!

If you hold back anything, I'll kill ya. If you bend the truth or I think you're 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. Now, Mr. Bubble-and-Squeak, you may enlighten me.

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!

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

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