Babs: has fainted from a near-death experience All me life flashed before me eyes. disappointed It was really borin'.
the chickens are panicking
Ginger: Ladies, please. Let's not lose our heads.
Bunty: Lose our heads? Aaaahh.
Babs: Morning, Ginger. Back from holiday?
Ginger: I wasn't on holiday, Babs. I was in solitary confinement.
Babs: Oh, it's nice to get a bit of time to yourself, isn't it?
Bunty: In all my life, I've never heard such a fantastic load of tripe. Oh, face the facts, ducks. The chances of us getting out of here are a million to one.
Ginger: Then there's still a chance.
Ginger: Listen. We'll either die free chickens or we die trying.
Babs: Are those the only choices?
Babs: I don't want to be a pie. I don't like gravy.
Ginger: But you're supposed to be up there - you're the pilot.
Fowler: Don't be ridiculous. I can't fly this contraption.
Ginger: "Back in your day"? The Royal Air Force?
Fowler: 644 Squadron, Poultry Division - we were the mascots.
Ginger: You mean you never actually *flew* the plane?
Fowler: Good heavens, no! I'm a chicken! The Royal Air Force doesn't let chickens behind the controls of a complex aircraft.
Rocky: The name's Rocky. Rocky the Rhode Island Red. Rhodes for short.
Bunty: Rocky Rhodes?
Rocky: Catchy, ain't it?
Rocky: You see, flying takes three things: Hard work, perseverance and... hard work.
Fowler: You said "hard work" twice.
Rocky: That's because it takes twice as much work as perseverance.
Mr. Tweedy: What is it?
Mrs. Tweedy: It's a pie machine, you idiot. Chickens go in, pies come out.
Mr. Tweedy: Ooh, what kind of pies?
Mrs. Tweedy: Apple.
Mr. Tweedy: My favorite.
Mrs. Tweedy: Chicken pies, you great lummox. Imagine. In less than a fortnight, every grocers' in the county will be stocked with box upon box of Mrs. Tweedy's Homemade Chicken Pies.
Mr. Tweedy: Just Mrs.?
Mrs. Tweedy: Woman's touch. Makes the public feel more comfortable.
Ginger: I should turn you in right now.
Rocky: You wouldn't... would you?
Ginger: Give me one reason why I shouldn't.
Rocky: Because I'm... cute? Ginger squawks to attract the farmer's attention Hey, what kind of crazy chick are you? Do you know what will happen if he finds me?
Ginger: It's a cruel world.
Rocky: I just decided I don't like you.
Ginger: I just decided I don't care.
on the chickens' plane before take-off
Nick: The exits are located here and here. In the quite likely event of an emergency, put your head between your knees...
Fetcher: and kiss your bum goodbye!
after being asked where he's from
Rocky: Oh, just a little place I call the land of the free and the home of the brave...
Rocky: No! America.
Nick: Here's a thought. Why don't we get an egg and start our own chicken farm? That way we'd have all the eggs we could eat.
Fetcher: Right. We'll need a chicken, then.
Nick: No... no, we'll need an egg. You have the egg first, that's where you get the chicken from.
Fetcher: No, that's cobblers. If you don't have a chicken, where are you going to get the egg?
Nick: From the chicken that comes from the egg.
Fetcher: Yeah, but you have to have an egg to have a chicken.
Nick: Yeah, but you've got to get the chicken first to get the egg, and then you get the egg... to get the chicken out of...
Fetcher: Hang on, let's go over this again.
Mr. Tweedy: being attacked by chickens Mrs. Tweedy! The chickens are revolting!
Mrs. Tweedy: not paying attention Finally something we agree on
Rocky: Presenting himself You see, I'm a traveler by nature. I did that whole barnyard thing for a while but I couldn't really get into it. to one of the chickens Hi, how are you? she swoons and faints, Rocky continues Nope! The open road, that's more my style. Yep, just give me a pack on my back and point me where the wind blows. In fact, you know what they call me back home? You're gonna love this: The Lone Free Ranger.
watching the chickens trying to fly
Nick: What's this caper, love?
Babs: We're *flyin'*!
Nick: cynically Obviously. pause Flamin' 'ell! Hey, look at this, Fetch.
Fetcher: They're gonna kill themselves... wanna watch?
Nick: thinks for a moment Yeah, all right.
Ginger: Think, everyone, think. What *haven't* we tried yet?
Bunty: We haven't tried *not* trying to escape.
Babs: Hmm. *That* might work
Nick: We slipped into the farmer's room, all quiet like.
Fetcher: Like a fish.
Nick: Yeah, and we..."Like a fish"? You stupid Norbert.
Fowler is forced to share his bunk with Rocky Absolutely outrageous! Asking a senior officer to share his quarters and with a noncommissioned Yank, no less. Why, back in my day, I'd never...
Rocky: Hey! You weren't exactly *my* first choice, either. And scoot over. Your wing's on my side of the bunk.
Fowler: *Your* side of the bunk? The *whole bunk* is my side of the bunk!
Rocky: snapping backJust... What's that smell? Is that your breath?
Fowler: It's absolutely outrageous.
Rocky: Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You wanna get every chicken in this place out of here *at the same time*?
Ginger: Of course.
Rocky: You're certifiable! You can't pull off a stunt like that. That's suicide.
Ginger: Where there's a will, there's a way.
Rocky: Couldn't agree more. And I *will* be leaving *that* way.
encouraging after a failed day of "flying"
Rocky: Ducky, I think you flew four feet today!
Nick: Right, four feet! From the roof to the ground.
Rocky: Ouch! What happened to my wing?
Ginger: You took a rather nasty fall.
Mac: very fast, in strong Scottish accent And sprained the anterior tendon connecting your radius to your humerus. I gave her a wee bit of a tweak, Jimmy, and wrapped her up.
Rocky: Was that English?
Nick: Eggs from heaven.
Fetcher: No, from her bum.
Fowler: Increase velocity!
Babs: What does that mean?
Bunty: It means pedal your flippin' giblets out!
Ginger: We can't give you our eggs. They're too valuable.
Nick: And so are we. Packing up to leave After you, Fetcher.
Fetcher: After I what?
Rocky: Listen. Shh. You hear that? silence That's the open road calling my name, and I was born to answer that call. Bye. leaves
Babs: He must have very good hearing.
Bunty is about to be shot out of a slingshot
Fetcher: The tension's killing me.
Nick: It's gonna kill her.
Ginger: I thought you were teaching us how to fly.
Rocky: That's what I'm doing.
Ginger: Isn't there usually some flapping involved?
Rocky: Hey, do I tell you how to lay eggs?
Hen: And what brings you to England, Mr Rhodes?
Rocky: Why, all the beautiful English chicks, of course.
Rocky: Is there a problem here?
Ginger: rhetorically Have we flown over that fence?
Rocky: Not quite.
Ginger: Then there's a problem.
Ginger: We need some more things.
Nick: Right you are, miss. opens suitcase and pulls out thimbles How about this quality, handcrafted tea set?
Ginger: No, thanks.
Fetcher: holding a drain plug on a chainOr this lovely necklace and pendant?
Ginger: It's love...
Nick: holding a shuttlecockOr this little number that's all the rage in the most fashionable coops in Paree? Simply pop it on like so... pops it on Ginger's head, feathers side up And as the French hens say, "Voilá!"
Fetcher: That is French.
Nick: It's two hats in one, miss. For parties... turns shuttlecock over For weddings. Oh, madame! This makes you look like a vision, like a dream.
Fetcher: Like a duck.
Mac: very rapidly, with a thick Scottish accent Thrust! I went over my calculations, hen, and I forgot the key element missing is thrust!
Rocky: after a long pauseI didn't get a word of that.
Mac: Thrust. Other birds, like ducks and geese, when they take off, what do they have? shoutsThrust!
Rocky: I swear she ain't using real words.
Ginger: She said we need more thrust.
Rocky: Oh, thrust! Of course we need thrust. Why, thrust and flying are, well, like this. crosses fingers See, that's flying and that's thrust.
Rocky: Guys, you are without a doubt the sneakiest, most light-fingered thieving parasites I've ever met.
Nick: flatteredOh, don't, don't. Stop it!
Fetcher: I've gone bright red.
Nick: Eggs. Just like the ones that rooster was gonna lay. Only roosters don't lay eggs, do they?
Fetcher: Don't they?
Nick: No, it's a lady thing apparently - ask your mum.
Ginger: You know what the problem is? The fences aren't just round the farm. They're up here, in you heads. There's a better place out there, somewhere beyond that hill, and it has wide open places, and lots of trees... and grass. Can you imagine that? Cool, green grass.
Hen: Who feeds us?
Ginger: We feed ourselves.
Hen: Where's the farm?
Ginger: There is no farm.
Babs: Then, where does the farmer live?
Ginger: There is no farmer, Babs.
Babs: Is he on holiday?
Ginger: He isn't anywhere! Don't you get it? There's no morning head count, no farmers, no dogs and coops and keys, and no fences.
Bunty: In all my life I've never heard such a fantastic... load of tripe!