Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Us, man.
then you got the means to put your hip into the punch.
then whatever comes out of Burrell's mouth is gonna stand.
- I ain't asking. - Damn, String, I don't know...
I ain't claiming no kind of victory, neither.
Clay Davis Rainmade you.
- You're gonna go to the press? - Not me.
and attest that the information contained in this document...
At the time, Stringer Bell was at the print shop.
Look like you and me both trying to make sense of this game.
- Well, he got to go. - No, you a fucking businessman.
If Burrell's painting him the villain...
- That's how you were standing. - You ain't had no weight on your back foot.
with a briefcase full of drug money?
Justin, come on. Come on.
Nigga, I got to remind you who the fuck you work for?
There'll be nothing left of it before midnight shift.
- All right? - I'm good, I'm good.
A nigga step in my house, he getting dropped.
He wants me to turn the information over to Tony Gray...
It's genius.
This is the neighborhood where a cop got shot last summer, right?
Get you some water, boy, and spit it out.
Is that suppose to mean something to me, man?
If he made a mistake here, then I'm willing to pay the cost.
Come on, boy, I'm calling your name.
- You're expecting what? - Payout.
I seen your picture on them Globe posters back in the day.
Bing, you just pull the number right off the cell tower.
- But it's safe. - WMDs, got them WMDs.
Now here's Shamrock returning Bodie's call.
Us, motherfucker.
Whitey sale, whitey sale.
who will happily put His Honor's shit in the street.
This is an old game in this town, and Clay Davis?
You should probably sell sweats with hoodies.
That'd be Shamrock.
- It's for Russell Bell's dirty cell. - It's a good pull.
- It's me, man. - You heard from the fat man?
And...
You got this headgear right here. It's new.
They gonna say all that firepower is theirs.
It was a funeral parlor.
In fact, the folks downtown at Minor Privileges tell me...