Eddie: The entire British empire was built on cups of tea... Soap: Yeah, and look what happened to that. Eddie: ...And if you think I'm going to war without one, mate, you're mistaken.
出自電影《夠薑四小強》 的經典對白。
更多夠薑四小強的經典對白
Barry the Baptist: When you dance with the devil, you wait for the song to stop.
Rory Breaker: If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kinda pussy to drink it. Know what I mean?
Soap: A minute ago this was the safest job in the world. Now it's turning into a bad day in Bosnia.
Rory Breaker: Get Nick, that greasy wop, shistos, pesevengi, gamouri Greek bastard, if he's stupid enough to still be on this planet.
Winston: Charles, get the rifle out. We're being fucked.
Rory Breaker: Is this some white cunts joke that black cunts don't get? 'Cause I'm not fucking laughing Nicholas.
Tom: There's no money, there's no weed. It's all been replaced by a pile of corpses.
Soap: You're not funny, Tom. You're fat, and look as though you should be, but you're not.
Rory Breaker: Now watch out for these fellas. They've got a bit of an arsenal, and they don't mind using it.
Big Chris: All right, son: roll them guns up, count the money, and put your seat belt on.
Soap: A little bit of pain never hurt anybody, if you know what I mean.
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: I've just spent 120 quid on me hair. If you think I'm puttin a stockin over me head you're very much mistaken.
"Hatchet" Harry: I don't want to know who you use, as long as they're not complete muppets.
Barfly Jack: He then proceeds to order an Aristotle of the most ping-pong tiddly in the Nuclear sub.
Eddie: As you know this puts us in an awkward position... I don't have enough to continue.
Soap: OY! Keep your fingers out of my soup!
Eddie: Can we lock up and get drunk now?
Tom: They lack any kind of criminal credibility. I might get laughed at.
Rory Breaker: We're gonna do a proper decoration job. I want the grey skies of London illuminated. I want that house painted red.
Rory Breaker: What do you want, a medal? I'll shoot you in the fucking throat if I don't get my ganja back.
Plank: A bunch of Public Schoolboys, soft as shite.
"Hatchet" Harry: Don't go spending it all at once, boy.
Mickey: It's time to say goodnight, nurse!
Soap: Tom, what have you been eatin'?
Tom: This is fucked. No money. No weed. Its all been replaced by a pile of corpses.
Mickey: How'd you think I'm doing? He's fucking nearly chopped my arm off.
Dean: We're in shit. They were his fucking guns we sold.
Paul: Gordon Bennett. What the fuck's been going on here?
J: We grow grass, we're not mercenaries.
Barry the Baptist: When you dance with the devil, you wait for the song to stop.
Soap: A minute ago this was the safest job in the world. Now it's turning into a bad day in Bosnia.
Rory Breaker: If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kinda pussy to drink it. Know what I mean?
Rory Breaker: Get Nick, that greasy wop, shistos, pesevengi, gamouri Greek bastard, if he's stupid enough to still be on this planet.
Winston: Charles, get the rifle out. We're being fucked.
Rory Breaker: Is this some white cunts joke that black cunts don't get? 'Cause I'm not fucking laughing Nicholas.
Tom: There's no money, there's no weed. It's all been replaced by a pile of corpses.
Soap: You're not funny, Tom. You're fat, and look as though you should be, but you're not.
Rory Breaker: Now watch out for these fellas. They've got a bit of an arsenal, and they don't mind using it.
Big Chris: All right, son: roll them guns up, count the money, and put your seat belt on.
Soap: A little bit of pain never hurt anybody, if you know what I mean.
Barry the Baptist: If you don't want to be counting the fingers you haven't got, I suggest you get those guns. Quick!
Eddie: They're armed. Soap: What was that? Armed? What do you mean 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!
"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.
Big Chris: I've got some bad news for you, John. John: What the fuck? Big Chris: Mind your language in front of the boy! John: Jesus Christ! Big Chris: That includes blasphemy as well!
Tom: Listen to this one then; you open a company called the Arse Tickler's Faggot Fan Club. You take an advert in the back page of some gay mag, advertising the latest in arse-intruding dildos, 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 Faggot 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! Bacon: So how long do you have to wait for a return? Tom: Probably no more than four weeks. Bacon: Well what good is that if we need it in six... no, five days? Tom: Well it was still a good idea.
Eddie: Oh, and if Tom or 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. 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.
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.
Gary: What the fuck are you doing here? Barry the Baptist: What the FUCK are YOU doing here?
Barry the Baptist: Fucking northern monkeys! Lenny: I hate these fucking southern fairies!
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 gettin' shot?
Eddie: The entire British empire was built on cups of tea... Soap: Yeah, and look what happened to that. Eddie: ...And if you think I'm going to war without one, mate, you're mistaken.
Dog: I'll find you... I'll find you. Bacon: 'Course you will sweetheart! Dog: I'll find you. Bacon: What d'you think this is? Fucking hide and seek?
Don: I'll fold. Phil: Fold? Is that the only word they taught you at school, Donald? Don: No Phil, they also taught me the word cunt!
Little Chris: Fuckin' 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!
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?
Big Chris: I understand if this has come as a bit of a shock. But let me tell you how this can be resolved by you, a good father. JD: Go on. Big Chris: He likes your bar. JD: Yes? Big Chris: He wants your bar. JD: And? Big Chris: Do you want me to draw you a picture?
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.
Dog: What the fuck is that? Mickey: It's me Bren gun. Dog: Couldn't you have thought of something more practical?
Eddie: Tom, you take those guns and you throw them off a bridge. Bacon: And throw yourself off while you're at it.
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.
JD: I do know your reputation. So I choose my words very carefully. You tell Harry to go fuck himself. Big Chris: Now... I'll put that down to shock. Only once.
Soap: You mean to tell me that the only thing connecting us with the murders is in the back of your car which is parked outside? Tom: They cost me 700 quid. I'm not just going to throw them away. They're hardly likely to trace 'em back to us, now are they? Soap: You really think it's worth taking the risk for 700 pounds? Tom, you're a dick.
Nick the Greek: Just get me a sample. Tom: No can do. Nick the Greek: What's that? Some place near Katmandu? Meet me halfway, mate.
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: 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.
JD: So, you in the clear? More importantly, am I? Eddie: It appears so. JD: Appears? You'd have to do better than fucking appears, my friend. Eddie: Well everybody's dead, Dad. I think that's about as clear as it can get.
Eddie: Twenty grand, open. "Hatchet" Harry: Thirty thousand. Back to you, already-Eddie. Eddie: Fifty grand. "Hatchet" Harry: Eighty grand. Eddie: One hundred grand. Player: Whoa, whoa, whoa, look fellas, I know... "Hatchet" Harry: I know you're not in. Which means, no-one cares what you know.
