Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

We got to get with the feds somehow.
In the beginning, you're in your radio car...
on three shifts hounding you every goddamned day.
until the grand jury signs off.
-But you ain't got to punk him like that. -He punked himself.
-What's up with shop? -No re-up.
-Yeah, later. -Later?
Clean. Not a fucking thing in there.
No.
-We're right in the middle of a game. -Chill out, I want to see this.
It's always the case.
Not that my bosses give a damn at this point.
A judge signs something like that, you can clone a beeper.
Okay.
We ain't got shit.
I'm his right hand.
-Can I come in? -No.
Shit.
We're in the projects.
I'm not jumping out on something that will harm the case.
Low-level people.
Read that.
He says it goes to a grand jury.
Where's it all go?
he takes them to the judge, he figures the judge goes away.
It's boring, painstaking work, but if you don't want...
and you ain't even around to see that shit right.
It's not like I was walking around...
This shit is fucking stupid.
The pawns, man, in the game...
He hurt your feelings?
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-I know I look like I could go either way. -Lord, yes, you do. Yes, you do.
You want something different, you give me another name.
Spread your legs. Don't make me kick your ass, too.
-Who are you partnered with? -McNulty.
If you don't hand no money to nobody that matters...
The usual.
I owe you...
How bad is that?
You?
-What? -Valchek.
Touts and children, that's all you're gonna get.
-Squires, young squires. -What you want, nigger?
Yeah, you are.