Full Metal Jacket

I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your senior drill instructor.

From now on, you will speak only when spoken to...

...and the first and last words out of your filthy sewers will be "sir."

Do you maggots understand that?

Sir, yes, sir.

Bullshit. I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair.

Sir, yes, sir.

If you ladies leave my island, if you survive recruit training...

...you will be a weapon.

You will be a minister of death praying for war.

But until that day, you are pukes.

You are the lowest form of life on Earth.

You are not even human-fucking-beings.

You are nothing but unorganized, grabasstic pieces of amphibian shit.

Because I am hard, you will not like me.

But the more you hate me, the more you will learn.

I am hard but I am fair.

There is no racial bigotry here.

I do not look down on niggers, kikes, wops or greasers.

Here, you are all equally worthless.

And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers...

...who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps.

Do you maggots understand that?

Sir, yes, sir.

Bullshit. I can't hear you.

Sir, yes, sir!

- What's your name, scumbag? - Sir, Private Brown, sir!

Bullshit. From now on you're Private Snowball.

- Do you like that name? - Sir, yes, sir!

Well, there's one thing that you won't like, Snowball:

They don't serve fried chicken and watermelon...

...on a daily basis in my mess hall.

Sir, yes, sir!

Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me?

Who said that?

Who the fuck said that?

Who's the slimy little communist-shit, twinkle-toed cocksucker down here...

...who just signed his own death warrant?

Nobody, huh?

The fairy-fucking-godmother said it. Out-fucking-standing.

I will P.T. you all until you fucking die.

I'll P.T. you until your assholes are sucking buttermilk.

- Was it you, you scroungy little fuck? - Sir, no, sir.

You piece of shit. You look like a fucking worm. I'll bet it was you.

- Sir, no, sir. - Sir, I said it, sir.

Well, no shit.

What have we got here? A fucking comedian. Private Joker.

I admire your honesty.

Hell, I like you. You can come over to my house and fuck my sister.

You little scumbag. I've got your name. I've got your ass.

You will not laugh. You will not cry.

You will learn by the numbers. I will teach you.

Now get up. Get on your feet.

You best unfuck yourself or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck.

- Sir, yes, sir. - Private Joker, why did you join my Corps?

- Sir, to kill, sir. - So you're a killer?

- Sir, yes, sir. - Let me see your war face.

- Sir? - You've got a war face?

That's a war face. Now let me see your war face.

Bullshit. You didn't convince me. Let me see your real war face.

You don't scare me. Work on it.

Sir, yes, sir!

What's your excuse?

Sir, excuse for what, sir?

I'm asking the fucking questions, private. Do you understand?

- Sir, yes, sir. - Well, thank you very much.

- Can I be in charge for a while? - Sir, yes, sir.

- Are you shook-up? Are you nervous? - Sir, I am, sir.

- Do I make you nervous? - Sir...

Sir what? Were you about to call me an asshole?

- Sir, no, sir. - How tall are you, private?

Sir, 5'9", sir.

Five-foot-9. I didn't know they stacked shit that high.

You trying to squeeze an inch in on me somewhere?

- Sir, no, sir. - Bullshit. It looks like the best part of you...

...ran down the crack of your mama's ass and ended up as a stain on the mattress.

I think you've been cheated.

Where the hell are you from, private?

- Sir, Texas, sir. - Holy dogshit. Texas?

Only steers and queers come from Texas, Private Cowboy.

And you don't much look like a steer to me, so that kind of narrows it down.

- Do you suck dicks? - Sir, no, sir.

- Are you a peter puffer? - Sir, no, sir.

I'll bet you would fuck a person in the ass...

...and not even have the goddamn common courtesy to give him a reach around.

I'll be watching you.

Did your parents have any children that lived?

- Sir, yes, sir. - I'll bet they regret that.

You're so ugly you could be a modern-art masterpiece.

- What's your name, fat-body? - Sir, Leonard Lawrence, sir.

Lawrence? Lawrence what, of Arabia?

- Sir, no, sir. - That name sounds like royalty. You royalty?

- Sir, no, sir. - Do you suck dicks?

- Sir, no, sir. - Bullshit. I'll bet you could suck a golf ball...

- ...through a garden hose. - Sir, no, sir.

I don't like the name Lawrence.

Only faggots and sailors are called Lawrence.

- From now on you're Gomer Pyle. - Sir, yes, sir.

Do you think I'm cute, Private Pyle? You think I'm funny?

- Sir, no, sir. - Wipe that disgusting grin off your face.

Sir, yes, sir.

Well, any-fucking-time, sweetheart.

- Sir, I'm trying, sir. - Private Pyle, I'll give you three seconds...

...exactly three fucking seconds...

...to wipe that stupid-looking grin off your face...

...or I will gouge out your eyeballs and skull-fuck you.

One. Two. Three.

- Sir, I can't help it, sir. - Bullshit. Get on your knees, scumbag.

Now choke yourself.

Goddamn it, with my hand, numb-nuts.

Don't pull my fucking hand over there. I said, choke yourself.

Now lean forward and choke yourself.

- Are you through grinning? - Sir, yes, sir.

Bullshit. I can't hear you.

Sir, yes, sir.

Bullshit. I still can't hear you. Sound off like you've got a pair.

Sir, yes, sir.

That's enough. Get on your feet.

Pyle, you had best square your ass away and start shitting me Tiffany cuff links...

...or I will definitely fuck you up.

Sir, yes, sir.

Left, right, left, right left, right, left.

Left, right, left, right, left.

Left, right, left, right, left...

Parris Island, South Carolina...

...the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot.

An eight-week college for the phony-tough and the crazy-brave.

Mama and Papa were laying in bed

Mama rolled over And this is what she said

Mama rolled over, this is what she said

-Oh, give me some, give me some -Oh, give me some, give me some

- P. T. - P. T.

-Good for you -Good for you

-And good for me -And good for me

-Good -Good

Up in the morning to the rising sun

Gonna run all day till the running's done

Ho Chi Minh is a son of a bitch

Got the blue balls, crabs And the seven-year itch

Left, right, left, right, left.

Your left shoulder.

Left, right, left. Port.

Left, right. Attack. Halt.

Left shoulder.

Private Pyle, what are you trying to do to my beloved Corps?

- Sir, I don't know, sir. - You are dumb, Private Pyle...

...but do you expect me to believe that you don't know left from right?

- Sir, no, sir. - Then you did that on purpose.

- You wanna be different. - Sir, no, sir.

- What side was that, Private Pyle? - Sir, left side, sir.

- Are you sure, Private Pyle? - Sir, yes, sir.

- What side was that, Private Pyle? - Sir, right side, sir.

Don't fuck with me again, Pyle.

Pick up your fucking cover.

Sir, yes, sir.

Your left shoulder.

Left, right, left. Port.

Left shoulder.

Your right shoulder.

Left, right, left, right. Your left shoulder.

Left, two, three, four.

Your right shoulder.

Tonight you pukes will sleep with your rifles.

You will give your rifle a girl's name.

Because this is the only pussy you people are going to get.

Your days of finger-banging old Mary Jane Rottencrotch...

...through her purty pink panties are over.

You're married to this piece.

This weapon of iron and wood.

And you will be faithful.

Arms.

Prepare to mount.

Mount.

Port.

Pray.

This is my rifle.

There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My rifle is my best friend.

It is my life.

I must master it as I must master my life.

Without me, my rifle is useless.

Without my rifle, I am useless.

I must fire my rifle true.

I must shoot straighter than my enemy, who is trying to kill me.

I must shoot him before he shoots me.

I will.

Before God, I swear this creed.

My rifle and myself are defenders of my country.

We are the masters of our enemy.

We are the saviors of my life.

So be it until there is no enemy, but peace.

Amen.

Arm.

At ease.

Good night, ladies.

Good night, sir.

- Hit it, sweetheart. - Sir, aye, aye, sir.

Right shoulder.

That is not your daddy's shotgun, Cowboy.

Left shoulder.