Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels Quotations

Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels is a 1998 film about four London working class stiffs who pool their money to enter a high stakes card game, but things go wrong and they end up owing half a million pounds, with one week to come up with the cash.

Written and directed by Guy Ritchie.

A Disgrace to Criminals Everywhere.Taglines

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.

[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?

I fucking hate traffic wardens.

Anyway, fuck it. The battle is over and the war is won.

No, fuck that. You can think about it. I am panicking and I'm off.

Soap, stop being such a mincer.

Tom

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 It's all been replaced by a pile of corpses.

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

Listen to this one: you open a company called the "Arse Tickler's Faggots 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 – that's 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 Faggots 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?

It's a deal, it's a steal, it's a sale of the fucking century. In fact, fuck it, Nick, I think I'll keep it!

It comes with a gold plated Rolls Royce if you pay for it.

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.

"Too late, too late" will be the cry when the man with the bargains passes you by.

[To Soap] I'm not sure what's more worrying, the job or your past.

[To Dog holding up a gun] Bend over the fucking desk!

Let me tell you about Hatchet Harry. Once there was this geezer called Smithy Robinson, who worked for Harry. It was rumoured that he was on the take. Harry's invited Smithy 'round for explanation. Smithy didn't do a very good job. Within a minute, Harry's lost his rag. Reached out for the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a 15-inch black rubber cock. He's then proceeded to batter poor Smithy to death with it. Now, that was seen as a pleasant way to go. Hence, Hatchet Harry is the man you pay if you owe.

'Course you will, sweet'art.

What d'you think this is, hide and seek?

Soap

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

Oi! Keep your fingers out of my soup!

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

Brother, mother, or any other sucker, they're still fucking guns, and they still fire fuckin' bullets!

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.

Rory Breaker

If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kind of pussy to drink it.

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

Is this a declaration of war? Is this some white cunts' joke that black cunts don't get? 'Cause I'm not fucking laughing, Nichol-arse!

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

What do you want, a medal? I'll shoot you in the fucking throat if I don't get my ganja back!

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

Mr. Breaker … today, my name is Mr. Breaker!

Barry the Baptist

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

No mortgages, no debts; lock, stock, the fuckin' lot.

Fucking northern monkeys!

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

[Trying to stop his monitor switching off] Come on! Not now, please, not – [monitor goes off] oh, you fucking bastard.

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?

Others

Big Chris: It's been emotional.

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

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

Winston: Charles, get the rifle out. We're being fucked!

Barfly Jack: Rory? You don't know Rory. He's not to be underestimated. He's a funny-looking fucker, 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 fuck 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 fucking it," says the geezer. "That's fucking 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.

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

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.

Dialogue

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

Eddie: Invitations?

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

Eddie: Well, we've got a 100.000 bits of paper with 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 fucking tongue and I'll hold on to my patience, okay, sonny? No one in here tonight but card players. And I do mean no one.

Eddie: Right. We hit'em 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 carryin'em.

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

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

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

Tom: It's the mother of all fuck-ups, stupid!

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

Nick the Greek: Weed?

Tom: Nah, it's not normal weed. Some fucked-up skunk, class A, can't-think-let-alone-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 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: Ah, 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.

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

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

Barry the Baptist: Oh, you must be the brains of the operation, then. Yes, 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 fucking stately home, of course there'll be something there.

Dean: Like what?

Barry the Baptist: Like fucking antiques.

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

Gary: … steal cars …

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

Barry the Baptist: If it looks old, it's worth money. Simple. So stop fucking 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 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. Right, I'm off, call me when you're done. Tata. [gets up and walks off, as he's walking off] Fucking northern monkeys.

Gary: I hate these fucking southern fairies.

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 going to fucking 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 fucking 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 ago 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: Mmm-hmm. We also need a money counter. This money's got to be out by Thursday. I'm buggered if I'm gonna count it. Oh, um, and if you do have to buy sodding fertilizer, could you just be a little more subtle?

Willie: What do you mean?

Winston: We grow copious amounts of ganja, yeah?

Willie: Yeah.

Winston: And you're carrying a wasted girl and a bag of fertilizer. You don't look like your average horti-fucking-culturist! That's what I mean, Willie.

Plank: [gets hit with an air rifle] Ah! They fucking shot me!

Dog: Well, shoot 'em back!

Plank: [shoots wildly]

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

Dog: I don't fucking believe this! Can everyone stop getting shot?

Little Chris: Fucking 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!

J: [Discussing their careers as marijuana growers] I've a strong suspicion we should have been rocket scientists, or Nobel Peace Prize winners … something.

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

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 knows 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 fuck are they going? … Shift a piano? I thought this was meant to be a robbery.

Eddie: Where did they get those outfits?

Tom and Bacon in Unison: Not a bad idea, that.

Dean: He's got the guns. Go ahead. You get them.

Gary: Why me?

Dean: You're supposed to be the hard case.

Gary: [shrieks] You get the guns. I drive the car!

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

Tom: That would be the same man, yes.

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

Eddie: What are we supposed to do with these?

Soap: Put them on your head, stupid.

Eddie: Christ.

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

Eddie: Right. Er, 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 'em covered up, eh? Couldn't you get anything bigger?

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

Eddie: … I think you need help.

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 fucking century. In fact, fuck it Nick, I think I'll keep it!

Nick the Greek: All right, all right, keep your Alans on!

[Nick pulls a massive wad of money out of his pocket]

Nick the Greek: Here's a ton.

Tom and 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.

[After shooting each other]

Gary: What the fuck are you doing here?

Barry: What the fuck are you doing here?

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. [quickly throws all the goods inside a suitcase and starts running]

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.

Eddie: Oh, and if Tom or anyone else for that matter feels like giving them a bit of a kicking, 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.

Barry the Baptist: Fucking northern monkeys!

Gary: I hate these fucking southern fairies!

Hatchet Harry: You must be Eddie, J.D.'s son.

Eddie: 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.

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

Nick the Greek: Uh?

Rory Breaker: Don't "uh" me, Greek boy! How is it that your fucking stupid soon-to-be-dead friends thought they might be able to steal my cannabis and then sell it back to me? Is this some white cunt's joke that black cunts don't get? 'Cause I ain't fucking laughing, Nich-ohl-arse!

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.

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

John: What the fuck?

[Chris slamms top of tanning bed on John]

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

John: Jesus Christ!

[Chris does it again]

Big Chris: That includes blasphemy as well!

Don: I'll fold.

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

Don: No, I also learned the word cunt!

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 didn't expect a fucking 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.

Dog: [indicates massive gun] What the fuck 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, [knocks him out] and I'm off.

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 fucking 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]

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!

Tom: Listen to this one: you open a company called the "Arse Tickler's Faggots 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 – that's 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 Faggots 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?

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 fucking good is that if we need it in six – no, five days?

Tom: Well, it's still a good idea.

Soap: Where'd you get these? A fucking 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.

Eddie: Where the hell are we gonna hide?

Bacon: Don't complicate things, just hide!

Dog: I'll find ya.

Bacon: 'Course you will, sweet'eart.

Dog: I'll find ya.

Bacon: What d'you think this is, hide and seek?

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

Nick the Greek: Uh?

[Nick shrugs with a stupid look on his face]

Rory Breaker: I know that you couldn't have known my position, 'cause you're not that stupid, that if you did, you wouldn't turned up here scratching your ass, with that "what's going on here?" look slapped all over your chevy-chase! But what you do know … is where these people live. [Rory swings around his chair, gets up and straightens his jacket] If you hold back anything, I'll kill you. If bend the truth, or I think you're bending the truth, I'll kill you. If you forget anything, I'll kill you. In fact, you're gonna have to work very hard to stay alive, Nick. Now, do you understand everything I've said? [Nick nods in fear] Because if you don't, I'll kill you! [Rory then puts on a gentle smile] Now, Mr. Bubble and Squeak, you may enlighten me.

Taglines

A Disgrace to Criminals Everywhere.

They lost half a million at cards, but they've still got a few tricks up their sleeve …

Cast

Jason Flemyng – Tom
Dexter Fletcher – Soap
Nick Moran – Eddie
Jason Statham – Bacon
Steven Mackintosh – Winston
Nicholas Rowe – J
Nick Marcq – Charles
Charles Forbes – Willie
Vinnie Jones – Big Chris
Lenny McLean – Barry the Baptist
Peter McNicholl – Little Chris
P.H. Moriarty – "Hatchet" Harry Lonsdale
Frank Harper – Dog
Steve Sweeney – Plank
Huggy Leaver – Paul
Tony McMahon – John
Stephen Marcus – Nick the Greek
Vas Blackwood – Rory Breaker
Sting – J.D. (Eddy's Dad)