The Firm

Where you going dressed like that

at this time of day?

Er... Fancy-dress party?

What are you going as?

F***ing Fruit Pastille?

Hilarious, you are.

Told ya. Going football.

- 8:
30 in the morning?

- Yeah.

lt's an early kick-off, innit?

Must think l was born yesterday.

- Just be careful.

- Come here.

And don't wake the baby on the way out.

Yeah, can l speak

to the Super Mario lookalike, please?

Bexy boy. What, you got a job

as an alarm call?

Yeah, all right, Yeti. l see yous

Millwall boys are away up North today.

Might be at King's Cross about

the same time as you. Fancy a meet?

What's the matter? You sound a bit agged.

Still gutted we keep catching you out?

You couldn't catch a cold, you prick.

Fancy it or not?

- You wouldn't think so.

- The pub behind the station. Head for that.

- Oh, and don't bring the Old Bill. Grass.

- We'll be there. Shithead.

Watch your back. Cos l'm gonna

slit you open like an envelope.

Yeah, you don't stand a...

All right, Bexy!

How you doin', Bexy?

- All right.

- All right, Bex.

- You see anything?

- Nah. Just spoke to their top boy, though.

He reckons they're firm-handed

and right up for a meet.

- How many heads we got here?

- 30 or 40.

- Plus the old lot will meet us down the tube.

- Good.

- What's happening, Beef?

- Sweet Bex.

- Do you want a drink?

- R Whites.

Nunc, get me a beer

and get him an R Whites, will ya?

Here. The other night he reckons

he copped hold of that Lorraine.

l'm tellin' ya, l did.

l plated her and everything.

- Lorraine?

- Good sort, out the flats. With the wet-look?

- Oh, yeah.

- Got her?

Yeah, got her, got her.

How was she, any good?

Not really. Lovely face,

but a splosh like a kebab.

- Doner?

- No, Lorraine.

J, l meant the kebab, mate.

- F***ing wake up!

- Come on, Trig.

- Let's have a mooch, eh?

- 'Ere, give it ten, will ya?

- l've got drinks coming.

- You mad? Come on.

- Let's go.

- F***'s sake.

Round up the young 'uns, will ya?

- Come on, boys, finish your drinks. Let's go.

- We're on the move.

Put the drink down. Let's go. Come on!

We're on the move.

Stand there gettin' laggin' all day?

They're right up for this.

Where you goin', Michael? Come over 'ere.

They're right up for this, this mob.

They wanna stand there,

get f***ing drunk all day, the lot of them.

- F***ing leave 'em, then, Bex.

- Are you sure?

F***ing young 'uns, in't they?

Don't start shoutin', either,

when we get there, yeah?

What's up?

- 'Ere y'are, boys, come on.

- F***in' Old Bill here.

- F***in' Old Bill.

- Listen, there's gawers here.

- Let's bolt.

- Sweet, son. Sweet.

..350 West Ham fans...

No one start gettin' mouthy and all that.

No one start gettin' mouthy.

- All right?

- ls it closed, Bex?

Pub ain't open. What a liberty!

- F***ing pub's closed.

- 'Scuse me, mate. Hold it there.

- Where do you think you're going?

- Round the pub, mate. Meet me bird.

- With 200 of your mates?

- Just goin' over there, policeman.

- Pub ain't even open. l don't believe this.

- F***ing no-show.

They're a no-show, the c*nts,

and there's gawers 'ere. F***'s sake!

- F***ing c*nts. l don't believe it.

- Haven't you got a train to catch?

Slip through the flats, some of you.

Standing about! F***'s sake.

..definitely

some West Ham hooligans...

Bex, where's Millwall?

There ain't no f***ing Millwall 'ere, mate.

Come on. Come on, come on.

Coming? Trigger! Trigger.

- Road's not open, lads.

- Where are they?

- Just go back the other way.

- Follow Trig.

Ho-ho. Hold on, 'ere they are,

'ave a look, 'ere we are!

Stand up, will ya? F***ing stand up!

- Come on, West Ham, they're here!

- Come on, West Ham!

F*** the Old Bill! Get up here, now!

With me! Come on!

Here we are!

All right, get here! Millwall, get here!

Everybody over here! Get here!

No f***ing running, none of ya!

Hold it. Stand down! Stand down!

- Get here! Get here!

- Turn round.

- l'm f***ing 'ere. l'm f***ing 'ere!

- Stay where you are!

lt's the same f***ing thing, Yeti!

You two-bob East End c*nt! F*** you!

Don't f***ing mouth with me, Yeti.

You f***ing muppet.

For f***'s sake,

sprinkle the puff in the joint, will ya?

What you on about?

Don't even know how to puff.

Don't know how to puff!

l was smoking templeball

when you was still buzzing on Leb, mate.

l was, weren't l?

l was hot-knifing three years ago.

Hot knives! You sure?

l've only ever seen you hot-knife once,

and you was out on the penny.

- Spark out, you was.

- Yeah, well, don't worry about me.

l'm the f***ing puff king.

l'm the geezer.

Oi, mate! Oi, mate!

What you gettin' all tricky for? Just

because you've had a few lugs on a joint.

l ain't gettin' tricky, l'm just sayin'.

l can't be dealin' with breakdancing

and fingerin' your little sister.

- Must be something more.

- Like what?

F*** knows. But there must be something.

You fingered my little sister?

l felt sorry for her.

You still comin' to Lips tonight,

though, yeah?

- You might as well f*** off now, then.

- All right. Don't get lemon, helmet.

- You're too young.

- l'm not gettin' lemon.

You're just givin' it the big 'un.

As usual. Helmet.

- Tune.

- Don't stop the music

'Ere y'are.

Oi, love!

Oh, f*** off, you pair of melts.

Oldest trick in the book, that is.

Sorry l'm late, Dad.

- Late? You ain't late. You're early.

- What?

You're early for tomorrow morning,

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes