The Football Factory

Billy Bright:
Don't f*** about, ping him!

Billy Bright:
Are you tryin' to mug me off in front of my pals?

Billy Bright:
C'mon, jog on!

Billy Bright:
U f***ing wanking off

Billy Bright:
We'll get the beers safe and then we'll outflank 'em, yeah?

Billy Bright:
I've never f***ing liked you, you little c*nt. Do you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking I should take you outside and open you up.

Billy Bright:
You f***ing little mug!

Tommy Johnson:
Are you gonna sit in some poxy office with a c*nt for a boss telling you what to do as you count your pennies trying to make ends meet in a country that's sinking into strikes and wars and at the end of the day you go home to your cosy little flat in 'nowheresville' and pull your IKEA curtains shut to hide from the big bad world and pretend it's not happening? Or are you gonna stand up and be counted, make a difference and feel the rush? Just for once say "f*** it". I'm coiled up like a spring and I'm ready to burst and wanking ain't doing it anymore. I need violence to make me feel I'm still alive. I know what I'd rather do, mate. Tottenham away. Love it!

Tommy Johnson:
Kicked half to death, florists, cabbies, nightmares and visions; one of the old soldiers gone forever; Bright gone for a seven; and bollocks so ruptured that the only thing I'll be pulling for months is a chain. After all that you really do have to ask yourself if it was all worth it... course it f***ing was!

Tommy Johnson:
Jesus! I was expecting a bowl of cornflakes and a quick wank...

Tommy Johnson:
There's nothing different about me. I'm just another bored male, approaching 30, in a dead-end job. Casual sex, heavily cut drugs and occasionally kicking f*** out of someone.

Tommy Johnson:
What else are you gonna do on a Saturday? Sit in your f***in' armchair wankin' off to Pop Idols? Then try and avoid your wife's gaze as you struggle to come to terms with your sexless marriage? Then go and spunk your wages on kebabs, fruit machines and brasses? F*** that for a laugh! I know what I'd rather do. Tottenham away, love it!

Tommy Johnson:
Problem was, he'd taken so many beatings on the terraces that he weren't scared of anyone. And the correct medical term for that is a "total f***in' psycho".

Tommy Johnson:
I'm gonna smash the f***in' granny out of that.

Tommy Johnson:
Getting beaten up by football hooligans is like having V.D. The f***ing pain goes on forever. But that's what makes it so exciting.

Tommy Johnson:
My granddad, old Bill Farrell, drove us to drink with his stories about the war and how he fought to put the "Great" into Britain. He said fighting at football was nothing compared to fighting with the Germans... Although, he was right. We're an island race. It's what we do best. It's not about color or race, it's just the buzz of being in the frontline. Truth is, I just love to fight.

Tommy Johnson:
The next best thing to violence is sex. And seeing as there's nearly 500,000 single women in London, I must be in with half a chance. Especially as I'd f*** anything that's breathing.

Fred:
Don't get lemon Bill, it don't suit ya.

Billyt:
Spell it, you c*nt.

Fred:
C-u-n-t, C*nt.

Billy:
I meant lemon, soppy bollocks.

Tamara:
So... What do you do, then, Thomas?

Tommy:
[Thomas? I kick people's f***in' heads in for a laugh. And you should know, div. You read the charges out] "Me? I work long and hard.

Tamara's Father':
[Rod meets his girlfriend's parents] "Tell me more about the air conditioning, Rodney. I'm fascinated.

Rod:
Air conditioning?

Tamara's Father:
You told me you run an air conditioning firm.

Rod:
Oh, we have a few vans out on jobs most of the time. Yeah, sure it's always busier in the summer, of course. Nothing like a soaring temperature to help the work, you know what I mean? Anyway, most of the time I just sit around the office waiting for the weekend. Don't get me wrong, I love the money the job pays. But my real passion lies in kicking people's f***ing heads in at football. See, I got to channel it somewhere. As you can probably tell by my bulging stomach, I don't participate in too many sporting activities. And I don't do drugs. Well, that's not entirely true, but not a lot. So I got to have my release in something, and a good f***ing fight seems like the best way. Wouldn't you agree? Maybe not. At least I wouldn't be walking around like you lot, f***ing horrible c*nts with sticks shoved up your asses trying to pretend your little suburban nightmare's all right. Then again, I suppose it just depends which way you look at it.

Bill:
Don't you ever get the itch?

Tommy:
Yeah. I can see myself on a sun lounger in my back garden, couple of kids running about. Sipping my Pimm's quietly.

Bill:
Kids, eh?

Tommy:
Yeah, why not?

Bill:
Well, what's their names?

Tommy:
Dorian, after me mate.

Bill:
Dorian? Both of them?

Tommy:
Yeah, probably.

Bill:
Well, what if they're girls?

Tommy:
Dorian.

Tamara:
Don't tell me you'd rather go to football.

Rod:
Well, I am male.

Rod:
Let's get out of here Bill, there's about ten Stoke fans staring right at us.

Billy:
How many did you say it was?

Rod:
About ten. Please don't start Bill.

Billy:
Right, which one's staring at me.

Rod:
The big geezer, one with the Hackett cap on.

Billy:
[pointing at fan] Right see you you c*nt, I'll cut you first.

Even in Britain, Crime is Crime.

What else you gonna do on a Saturday?

Billy Bright:
Once upon a time, I did get f***in' done in, me and the lads went up to Dundee, and we got turned over by the two psychos known as the Carlin cousins, they f***in' sliced and diced through our whole squad, and then a squad of old bill, and three police horses couldn't stop them. They're f***in' insane.

Tommy Johnson:
500,000 single women in London and I still can't get me fakin end away cause I'm a fakin stumblebum.