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2m7s
[ "You Never Can Tell" ] It was a teenage wedding and the old folks wished them well You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle And now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell C'est la vie say the old folks It goes to show you never can tell They furnished off an apartment with a two-room Roebucks sale The 'coolerador was crammed with TV dinners and ginger ale But when Pierre found work the little money comin' worked out well C'est la vie say the old folks It goes to show you never can tell They had a hi-fi phono and boy did they let it blast Seven hundred little records all rock, rhythm and jazz But when the sun went down the rapid tempo of the music fell C'est la vie say the old folks It goes to show you never can tell They had a teenage wedding and the old folks wished them well You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle [ Sighs ] [ Alarm Faintly Beeping ]
Pulp Fiction
19.2s
Let me ask you something. When did you make this decision? When you were sittin' there eatin' that muffin? Yeah. I was sittin' here eatin' my muffin, drinkin' my coffee, replayin' the incident in my head, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity. Fuck. To be continued.
Pulp Fiction
1m2s
This is Panda from Mexico. Very good stuff. Now, that's Bava. Different, but equally good. And that is Choco from the Harz Mountains of Germany. Now, the first two are the same. 300 a gram. Those are friend prices. But this one is a little more expensive. This is 500 a gram. But, when you shoot it, you will know where that extra money went. There's nothing wrong with these two. This is real, real, real good shit. But this one is a fuckin' madman. Remember, I just got back from Amsterdam. Am I a nigger? Are we in lnglewood? No. You're in my home. Now, white people who know the difference... between good shit and bad shit, this is the house they come to. Now, my shit, I'll take the Pepsi Challenge with that Amsterdam shit... - any old day of the fuckin' week. - That's a bold statement. This ain't Amsterdam, Vince. This is a seller's market. Coke is fuckin' dead as... dead. Heroin, it's comin' back in a big fuckin' way.
Pulp Fiction