Bullet Tooth Tony: You can call me Susan if it makes you happy.
Avi: Tony.
Bullet Tooth Tony: What?
Avi: Look in the dog.
Bullet Tooth Tony: What do you mean?
Avi: I mean open him up.
Bullet Tooth Tony: It's not as if it's a tin of baked beans! What do you mean "open him up"?
Mickey: I bet ya can box a little, can't ya sir? Aye, you look like a boxer.
Bullet Tooth Tony: Boris the Blade? As in Boris the Bullet-Dodger?
Avi: Why do they call him the Bullet-Dodger?
Bullet Tooth Tony: 'Cause he dodges bullets, Avi.
Avi: Eighty-six carats.
Rosebud: Where?
Avi: London.
Rosebud: London?
Avi: London.
Avi's Colleague: London?
Avi: Yes, London. You know: fish, chips, cup 'o tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins... LONDON.
Bullet Tooth Tony: So, you are obviously the big dick. The men on the side of ya are your balls. There are two types of balls. There are big brave balls, and there are little mincey faggot balls.
Vinny: These are your last words, so make them a prayer.
Bullet Tooth Tony: Now, dicks have drive and clarity of vision, but they are not clever. They smell pussy and they want a piece of the action. And you thought you smelled some good old pussy, and have brought your two small mincey faggot balls along for a good old time. But you've got your parties mangled up. There's no pussy here, just a dose that'll make you wish you were born a woman. Like a prick, you are having second thoughts. You are shrinking, and your two little balls are shrinking with you. And the fact that you've got "Replica" written down the side of your gun...
[Zoom in on the side of Sol's gun, which indeed has "REPLICA" etched on the side; zoom out, as they sneak peeks at the sides of their guns]
Bullet Tooth Tony: And the fact that I've got "Desert Eagle point five O"...
[Withdraws his gun and puts it on the table]
Bullet Tooth Tony: Written down the side of mine...
[They look, zoom in on the side of his gun, which indeed has "DESERT EAGLE .50" etched on the side]
Bullet Tooth Tony: Should precipitate your balls into shrinking, along with your presence. Now... Fuck off!
Turkish: What's happening with them sausages, Charlie?
Sausage Charlie: Five minutes, Turkish.
Turkish: It was two minutes five minutes ago.
Turkish: I fail to recognize the correlation between "losing 10K", "hospitalizing gorgeous" and "a good deal".
Turkish: [looks at the caravan] Look at it. How am I suppose to run this thing from that? We'll need a proper office. I want a new one, Tommy. You're going to buy it for me.
Tommy: Why me?
Turkish: Well, you know about caravans.
Tommy: How's that?
Turkish: You spent a summer in one, which means you know more than me. And I don't want to have my pants pulled down over the price.
Tommy: What's wrong with this one?
Turkish: [Pulls the caravan's door from its hinges] Oh, nothing, Tommy. It's tiptop. I'm just not sure about the colour.
Mickey: Good dags. D'ya like dags?
Tommy: Dags?
Mickey: What?
Mrs. O'Neil: Yeah, dags.
Tommy: Oh, dogs. Sure, I like dags. I like caravans more.
Tyrone: I don't want that dog dribbling on my seats.
Vinny: Your seats? Tyrone, this is a stolen car, mate.
Mickey: I'll tell ya what. I'll do it for a caravan.
Turkish: For what?
Pikeys: For a caravan.
Tommy: It was us who wanted a caravan.
[looking around]
Tommy: Anyway, what's wrong with this one?
Mickey: It's not for me. It's for me ma.
Turkish: Your what?
Pikeys: His ma.
