Human Traffic Page #2
- R
- Year:
- 1999
- 99 min
- 3,324 Views
Thanks. Bye.
See ya.
- It was an accident.
- Some f***ing accident.
- So you just gonna throw it all away?
You threw it away when you had your little accident with Yvonne.
- F*** Yvonne.
- No, f*** you!
You can't just take the piss outta people
and then come back and expected to be Terry and f***ing June.
Come on. I'm sorry.
[ Sigh ] Write a song, Tyler.
I don't care.
Good luck with your life,
'cause you gonna f***ing need it.
This is the third guy
who's f***ed me over in a row.
It's not you, Lu.
You're just a f***ing arsehole magnet.
[ Jip Narrating ]
Lulu didn't enroll for a degree
in social masturbation,
but she's getting one anyway.
Matt and Luke are post-Goa-modernists.
They live in a canteen armed only
with their Golden Virginia and Blue Rizla+.
Yacking endlessly about that psychadelic clichs
and how being black is a state of mind, yeah?
Aah, and they just got back from Amsterdam.
Designer-poor
and white-boy-dread posse.
F***ing space invaders.
- How's it going?
- Downhill.
Right, cool.
- So, how was your trip?
- Ah, well.
The theory of the 'Dam is,
yeah, life's for living.
So just sit down, skin up,
be blot. We chilled out
in the red-light district.
- Everyone's blazing away,
smoking trees of weed.
- Word to the "mummyfucker."
Our last night there,
we were sharing a skunk,
chillin' with these two
massive Rastas.
Nobody said a word. We just sat there
for three hours going up in smoke.
Nodding our heads to the dub
reggae that warmed the place.
The base line was so deep,
you could feel the
vibrations in Jamaica.
- Yo, what's up?
- Hey, nice, nice.
- Any new hip-hop, man?
- Yeah.
Eh, I got some smoking
West-Coast flow just landed.
Raw as botulism, mate.
Now, f*** that West Coast sh*t.
I want some hard-core
You know what I mean?
Well, why didn't you say so? Fat beats.
Armageddon on the streets.
We're inundated
with the sh*t, "bra."
Eh, we had anymore hard core,
we'd get arrested,
you know what I mean?
Yeah, high.
[ Jip Narrating ]
Now Koop's on the pulse,
but he's a serious vinyl pusher.
Getting the kids hooked,
hustling with style.
This... was recorded
by a posse of crackheads
on death row, right?
So all them little interludes
they're for real.
They call themselves
The Itchy Trigger Finger "Nigaz."
- The itchy what?
- The Itchy Trigger Finger "Nigaz."
[ Rap music playing: Grim My Last Request ]
...Success with falling in New York is amazing...
...Nine Glock cocked cops? F*** cops, my block...
...Execute, rip n tear, prepare electric chair...
...For the villainous, halfway crooked crimes are silliness...
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"Human Traffic" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Mar. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/human_traffic_10366>.
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