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]

Philip: Mr. Smith, could you tell us in your own words what happened?
Will: Yes. Peep this, your J-ship. Me and Jazz were about to cruise down to the mall in the honey wagon, you know, so we can pack it up with some honeys. So, I popped a little Peabo in the Pioneer, checked my pocket for my Binaca. Hey, 'cause, you know, fresh breath can make the difference between getting a honey's number and getting flipped the bird.
Judge Wilson: Honey flipped me the bird at a bus stop this morning. That's the most action I've had in six months. You were saying something, Mr. Smith?
Will: Yes, so, I checked my rear-view mirror and no sooner did I accelerate than out of nowhere the plaintiff, this seer-sucking Brooks Brother over here, came barreling out of nowhere and bashed right into me.
Judge Wilson: Anything else, Mr. Smith?
Will: Yeah, keep hope alive. You are somebody.
Judge Wilson: Thank you.