Quotes

Dialogue

Ernie: Did he just call me a black cunt? Coach: Yes, he did. Ernie: He can't do that. That's racist. Coach: But you are black and you are a cunt, Ernie. Those are the facts. I don't think Primetime cares what race you run in. Ernie: The fact that I'm black has nothing to do with the fact I'm a cunt. Coach: He didn't say black people were cunts, Ernie. He was being specific to you. One has nothing to do with the other. And I'd go a step further and say it was a term of affection. Ernie: Primetime's a Gypsy. I wouldn't call him a pikey cunt. Coach: Why not? He might be very understanding. Only if it comes from a place of love, of course.

Dialogue

Brown: What am I guilty of? Ray: Being a cunt, Brown. Being a cunt.

Dialogue

Michael Pearson: No sooner do I entertain Matthew's offer to buy me out and reject Dry Eye's offer does one of my farms get raided. Rosalind Pearson: First time ever. Michael Pearson: Doesn't feel like a coincidence, does it? Rosalind Pearson: It isn't. There's fuckery afoot.

Dialogue

Rosalind Pearson: Look, I don't want you knocking around here feeling all unemployed and lost with yourself. Mickey Pearson: Well, fuck me. Most wives would beg their other halves to get out of this game, but not you. Rosalind Pearson: That's because I know you, darling.

Dialogue

Ray: You're wrong, Fletcher. That's not how Michael works. Fletcher: Yeah, I know. I know. I was just having a bit of fun. Every movie needs a bit of action, doesn't it? And it's not like Michael doesn't have a reputation. Ray: Had a reputation. He's been gentrified.

Dialogue

Raymond: Who are you talking about know? Fletcher: I talk Raymondo of Dry Eye. Oh Dry Eye, what is he? Chinese, Japanese, Pekingese, get on your fucking knees. Dirty dragon filth. 'Yellow is the colour, gambling is the game'

Dialogue

Fletcher: Play a game with me, Ray. Raymond: No. Fletcher: Oh, please. Raymond: I said no. Fletcher: Play a fucking game with me, Ray. Raymond: ...right.

Dialogue

Rosalind Pearson: Ah! He's bought you a gun. That's a nice little gift. Five years in prison, all in one little box. Mickey Pearson: Oh, but that's not a gun, dear. That's a paperweight. Rosalind Pearson: Course it is. Along with a family of six baby bullets.

Dialogue

Fletcher: Can I come with you? Raymond: No, but you can go smoke the exhaust pipe in the back of your hearse. Fletcher: I might come anyway. You'll just hear me scratching about in the dark, wanking into a hanky.

Dialogue

Mickey Pearson: I like middle age. I like gentrification, private schools, fine wines, and a spoonful of caviar to help my medicine go down. But most importantly, I'm looking forward to spending more time with you. Rosalind Pearson: Of course you are.

Dialogue

Dry Eye: I understand you're getting out. Mickey Pearson: Getting out. Getting out of what? Bed? My head? The closet? Don't flirt with me, Dry Eye. I'm a busy man. Dry Eye: I hear you're getting out of the game. And I would like you to consider an offer. Mickey Pearson: Look, I'm going to stop you right there, so you don't waste any more of your precious breath, young man. This is not a discussion for the two of us. Unlike the salt and pepper, it's not on the table. I am not for sale. And even if I was, you're several zeros short. Now, you may be able to buy your man's sausage for that, but to me it just looks rude at breakfast. Dry Eye: You're out of touch. You're forgetting the laws of the jungle, looking down on me. Now, when the silverback's got more silver than back, he best move on before he gets moved on. It's not dignified. It's beneath you, Michael. Trying to do you a favor. This is a big fucking number. [pause] Mickey Pearson: And this? Well, this is a big fucking gun. [shoot

Dialogue

Rosalind Pearson: Look, you'll have to do this elegantly, love. If word spreads that you're getting out, that could read as weakness. And if you smell smoke, it's because there's a fire, and that could get expensive. So you're going to have to stamp that out without any gentrification. But not you, love. Don't you do anything messy. That's why you've got people, remember? [grabs Mickey's crotch gently] Mickey Pearson: I fucking love you, babe. Rosalind Pearson: Of course you do. Mickey Pearson: Any chance? Rosalind Pearson: No, you can wait. I've got a red-hot Russki with her finger on the trigger. I got to deal with it.

Dialogue

Ray: [Fletcher puts a cigar in his mouth] If you're thinking of smoking that in here... don't. Fletcher: I find that confusing. Do you mean don't smoke or don't think? [clicks lighter and Ray jumps out of his seat] Oh... [Ray motions towards Fletcher] Oh, all right, all right, it's going out!

Dialogue

Ray: I should stab you with that fucking rolling pin! Fletcher: Oh, don't be cunty. I was just hoping we could have a cozy little drink together. So, I've got a meeting on Saturday at your favorite newspaper. As the best private investigator in this smoky little town, good evening, ladies and gentlemen, they are ready to put a hundred and fifty grand in my pocket to give them some filth. Good for me, that, but in this case, it's bad for you.

Dialogue

Mickey Pearson: No sooner do I entertain Matthew's offer to buy me out, and reject Dry Eye's offer, does one of my farms get raided. Rosalind Pearson: First time ever. Mickey Pearson: Doesn't feel like a coincidence, does it? Rosalind Pearson: It isn't. There's fuckery afoot. Mickey Pearson: How did they find it? Ray: I don't know. I'm making inquiries.

Dialogue

Matthew Pearson: How does anyone grow fifty tons of super skunk without letting anyone else know how they do it? Mickey Pearson: I'm flattered to hear that from you, Matthew. I imagine that big brain of yours is sweating a stream of tears just trying to figure it out. Matthew Pearson: Brilliance should be acknowledged

Dialogue

Fletcher: He explodes on the scene like a millennial fucking firecracker. Bang, bang, bang, bang! Ray: I'm going to have to stop you right there, Fletcher. That doesn't sound like the Dry Eye I know. Fletcher: Just making sure you're paying attention, Raymond. So let's cut instead to a somewhat anticlimactic, but suave and debonair Dry Eye, like a Chinese James Bond.

Dialogue

Mickey Pearson: It's the new gold rush. This is the thin end of a very fat wedge, sir. Matthew: If it's such a fat wedge, why don't you keep it? Mickey Pearson: You see, I've developed a reputation as a man who came up the hard way. You could say that there's blood on these pretty white hands. But in the new business, once legal and under the jurisdiction of the respectable umbrella of ministerial legitimacy, an enterprise like this will need a face with a clean past, which sadly I do not possess. Retirement doesn't sound so bad. Long walks in the countryside, pruning roses with my better half, raising some cubs. I've earned it.

Dialogue

Mickey Pearson: Making a splash with the gentry. Matthew Pearson: Oh, I like to make a splash whenever possible. Mickey Pearson: Well, you also seem to understand the significance of a proper attire. Matthew Pearson: Indeed I do. I believe a sense of ownership is vital in every aspect of life, perhaps never more so than when it comes to wardrobe. For every look there is a season, and for every season a strategy. Fletcher: [voice over] Now starts the alpha dance. They're not really talking about clothes, Raymond. Oh, fucking no. They're like a pair of old doggies sniffing round one another's intellectual assholes. It's a good old-fashioned cock-off, Raymond.

Dialogue

Coach: Ernie. Did you get that Chinese fella's name? Ernie: Phuc. Coach: What? Ernie: Phuc. Like fuck, with a p-h. Coach: Don't get street with me, Ernie. Where does he live? Ernie: The posh part of Croydon. Coach: Drop the rope. There is no posh part of Croydon. Ernie: It's comparative, innit?

Dialogue

Raymond: Feel free to talk. Coach: I gather you're the consigliere of the outfit that my boys were stupid enough to fuck around with. On that note, I'd like to extend my apologies on their behalf. My boys, they're naive, they've had hard lives and they're just starting to come good. But, they're my lads, my responsibility, so it's me that should be accountable for their actions. Now, I can return your goods, but I can't return the inconvenience, the time, the fucking headache. And so I offer you my loyalty, my word, my time until that debt is settled. I'll make amends, but just leave me lads alone. Raymond: First of all, I'm going to need to know how your lads got that information about where our farm was sited, cause that's not common knowledge. Once we've overcome that little challenge, then we can talk.

Dialogue

Mickey Pearson: [as Mickey walks into the bar] Bobby. Barman: Boss? Mickey Pearson: I'll have a pint and a pickled egg. Barman: Coming straigt up.

Dialogue

Coach: Why does it smell of wee in here? Kid: Who the fuck is this joke, man? Coach: Don't stand near me son. You've got your mouthwash muddled up with cat piss. Now take two steps back, and wait your turn. Trigger: Better fuck off old man, or I'll wet ya. Coach: The only thing you can wet is your underpants son. Now, back two steps.

Dialogue

Coach: Ernie, what is it? Ernie: The ball's in the back of the net. We've rung the bell 'ere, and we're gonna include you, 'coz you're our mentor. Coach: I don't know what you're talkin' about, but I don't like the sound of it. Ernie: We've landed a load of sticky bush. Coach: Listen to me now Ernie... walk away. Ernie: It's too late, we're at the gym now, unloading the van. Coach: You took my van? Wait there... I'll be back in ten minutes.

Dialogue

Fletcher: And this, my love, is why I want my hard-earned 20 million pounds. Because not only do I know exactly how Mickey's business operates, but I also know that the very man he's trying to sell it to is trying to force him into selling it on the cheap and has indirectly started a war. So, you see, I think you should be calling me your trusted consigliere, or your spy behind the lines, your intellectual reconnaissance, if you prefer. Ray: I'm impressed. You certainly know more than I do. I'm impressed not only by your information, but by your imagination. Fletcher: Thank you very much. So you've got 72 hours. And I would just reiterate that if anything happens to me, I do have my insurance policy in place. Everything will go to Big Dave, and from him to the public, and you, my love, will go to Mars. So, strong recommendation, just pay up and watch me recede into the sunset blowing kisses, yes? Ray: Well, then, time to use the door, you black bastard. Fletcher: Well, that's just sill