James Russell: I want some answers.
Franklin Hatchett: Hey man, me and Guy just down here, checkin' out some fly rides, and mackin' some hos and chillin'.
James Russell: Imagine that. It's like a G-Dog on a fly tip. Flossin' wit da posse. Cuttin' in da crib. what THE fuck does that mean?
Franklin Hatchett: Man, I don't wanna have to beat yo ass, but I will beat yo ass.
James Russell: I need this for sweeps week.
Franklin Hatchett: Sweeps week? Man fuck sweeps week, my life's on the line and you're talking about a damn broom.
Franklin Hatchett: You know guns don't kill people, stupid motherfuckers with guns kill people.
Franklin Hatchett: Hey, man... Me and Guy just down here checkin' out some fly rides, mackin' some hoes, and chillin'.
James Russell: Imagine that... It's like a G-Dogg on a fly tip flossin' with the posse, cuttin' in the crib... what THE fuck does that mean?
Franklin Hatchett: Why you always gotta be killing someone, why don't you try loving someone?
James Russell: If you try anything fucked up or funny, I swear to God I will kill you myself.
Franklin Hatchett: Just like you did back on the dock, huh? (Mocking laugh) I will beat your ass.
James Russell: You ain't beatin' shit, homes.
Barclay: That was some hard hitting stuff. John Tesh School of Journalism.
Barclay: Who gives a rat's ass about some two bit hustler?
James Russell: The people getting ripped off by this two bit hustler give a rat's ass.
James Russell: Good evening. James Russell, Channel 12 news, I'm doing a report on local night clubs in the area, I'd like to ask you a few questions.
Doorman: Aw, you're the invstigative reporter.
James Russell: Why yes I am.
Doorman: Get the fuck out of here.
Paula: You better not be over at no girl's house.
Franklin Hatchett: Hell no I ain't at no goddamn girl's house. I'm wanted for muder. I ain't got time to get no pussy.
Paula: What?
Franklin Hatchett: I ain't fucking nobody but you.
Guy Supriani: No wedding.
Connie Supriani: We got 300 people coming here.
Guy Supriani: Good, they come here, they eat, they drink, they sing, they go the fuck home! Sorry.
James Russell: Please do something about that hair of yours.
Franklin Hatchett: My 'do is tight.
James Russell: Well every cop in the city is looking for that tight 'do.
Connie Supriani: What am I supposed to tell them?
Guy Supriani: You tell'em that our Grace is about to be married to some no-good, limp-dick bastard.
Grace Cipriani: He is not limp-dick, Daddy.
Guy Supriani: I don't wanna hear that.
Franklin Hatchett: This tub wasn't clean you dirty assed white boy.
Franklin Hatchett: MAN, GET THE hell of ME, MAN! and WHERE'S YO shirt AT?
