Turkish: Well, do you want to do it?
Mickey: That depends.
Turkish: On what?
Mickey: On you buying this caravan. Ah, not the rouge one, the rose.
Turkish: It's not the same caravan.
Mickey: It's not the same fight.
Turkish: It's twice the ****ing size of the last one.
Mickey: The fight is twice the size. And me ma still needs a caravan. I like to look after me ma. It's a fair deal. Take it.
Turkish: Mickey, you're lucky we aren't worm food after your last performance. Buying a tart's mobile palace is a little ****ing rich.
[Realizes his mistake as the gypsies stare threateningly at him]
Turkish: I wasn't calling your mum a tart. I just meant...
Mickey: Save your breath for cooling your porridge. Hey, look... [incoherently] Ah - deh sah-sez-fren-forcher, and dah scar-her-cushons, wit dah matsen-seck-way-Core-Ver.
[Turkish and Tommy look at each other with confusion]
Mickey: Right. And she's terribly partial to the periwinkle blue. Have I made myself clear, lads?
Turkish: Yeah, that's perfectly clear, Mickey, yeah. Just give me one minute to confer with my colleague.
[Turns to Tommy]
Turkish: Did you understand a single word of what he just said?
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