Philip: You can put your hands down, Jazz.
Jazz: No way. Dude's got a gun, next thing you know I got six warning shots in my back.
Philip: Jazz.
Jazz: Okay. I am putting my hands down now.
Philip: Jazz, could you give us your account?
Jazz: Can't. They closed my account. They said I was allegedly writing bad checks. I don't know what they talking about. Those checks was perfectly legible.

Philip: Until I see some insurance papers, you're not driving this car. In fact, what kind of idiot would sell a car without insurance?
Jazz: I resent that. Ah, the joke's on you, Mr. Banks. You can't throw me out 'cause I'm already outside.
[Uncle Phil lifts Jazz out of the car, carries him over his shoulder, and throws him into the house]

Eric: Why, hello, everyone. Nice day, isn't it?
Will: I don't have to answer that.
Eric: Mr. Banks, I just wanted to wish you good luck.
Philip: Son, I'm not the one who's going to need luck. I'm not only going to win. I'm going to chew you up and spit you out.
Jazz: I've seen him do a lot of chewing... but I ain't never seen him spit nothing out.