When a bird "flies" into a chicken farm, the fellow chickens see him as an opportunity to escape their evil owners.

[after fainting from a near-death experience]
Babs: All me life flashed before me eyes.
[disappointed]
Babs: It was really borin'.
[after being asked where he's from]
Rocky: Oh, just a little place I call the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Mac: Scotland!
Rocky: No! America.
Fowler: Pushy Americans, always showing up late for every war. Overpaid, oversexed, and over here.
[last lines]
Nick: Here's a thought. Why don't we get an egg and start our own chicken farm? That way we'd have all the eggs we could eat.
Fetcher: Right. We'll need a chicken, then.
Nick: No... no, we'll need an egg. You have the egg first, that's where you get the chicken from.
Fetcher: No, that's cobblers. If you don't have a chicken, where are you going to get the egg?
Nick: From the chicken that comes from the egg.
Fetcher: Yeah, but you have to have an egg to have a chicken.
Nick: Yeah, but you've got to get the chicken first to get the egg, and then you get the egg... to get the chicken out of...
Fetcher: Hang on. Let's go over this again?
[the chickens are panicking]
Ginger: Ladies, please. Let's not lose our heads.
Bunty: Lose our heads? Aaaahh!
Fetcher: Birds of a feather, flop together.
Babs: Morning, Ginger. Back from holiday?
Ginger: I wasn't on holiday, Babs. I was in solitary confinement.
Babs: Oh. It's nice to get a bit of time to yourself, isn't it?
Rocky: [lands in dough] D'oh. Get it? Dough!
Ginger: I'm stuck!
Nick: [on the chickens' plane before take-off, pointing then crossing his arms to point] The exits are located here and here. In the quite likely event of an emergency, put your head between your knees...
Fetcher: and kiss your bum goodbye!
Rocky: The name's Rocky. Rocky the Rhode Island Red. Rhodes for short.
Bunty: Rocky Rhodes?
Rocky: Catchy, ain't it?
Nick: Poultry in motion.
[watching the chickens trying to fly]
Nick: What's this caper, love?
Babs: We're flying!
Nick: [wryly] Obviously... Flamin' 'ell! Hey, look at this, Fetch.
Fetcher: They're gonna kill themselves... wanna watch?
Nick: ...Yeah, all right.
Mr. Tweedy: What is it?
Mrs. Tweedy: It's a pie machine, you idiot. Chickens go in, pies come out.
Mr. Tweedy: Ooh. What kind of pies?
Mrs. Tweedy: Apple.
Mr. Tweedy: My favourite!
Mrs. Tweedy: Chicken pies, you great lummox! Imagine. In less than a fortnight, every grocers' in the county will be stocked with box upon box of Mrs. Tweedy's Homemade Chicken Pies.
Mr. Tweedy: Just "Mrs."?
Mrs. Tweedy: Woman's touch. Makes the public feel more comfortable.
[on finding out Rocky can't fly. Inside joke, see Trivia]
Babs: I knew he was fake all along. In fact, I'm not even certain he was American.
[Ginger slaps Rocky]
Ginger: *That's* for leaving.
[pulls him close]
Ginger: And *this* is for coming back.
Fowler: Increase velocity!
Babs: What does that mean?
Bunty: It means pedal your flippin' giblets out!
Ginger: Listen. We'll either die free chickens or we die trying.
Babs: Are those the only choices?
Rocky: [Ginger falls down a chute] Oh, shoot!
Ginger: [falling] Rocky!
Rocky: I'll be down before you can say...
[spots something about to be dumped on him]
Rocky: ... "mixed vegetables"!
Nick: Imagine a world before chickens - a chickenless, eggless world...
Fetcher: I am - and it's horrible.
Bunty: In all my life, I've never heard such a fantastic... load of tripe. Oh, face the facts, ducks. The chances of us getting out of here are a million to one.
Ginger: Then there's still a chance.
Rocky: Now, the most important thing is, we have to work as a team, which means: you do everything I tell you.
Ginger: Think, everyone, think. What *haven't* we tried yet?
Bunty: We haven't tried *not* trying to escape.
Babs: Hmm. *That* might work.
Mr. Tweedy: [having just foiled an escape attempt by the chickens; to Ginger] I'll teach you to make a fool out of me.
[he imprisons her in a dumpster, then turns to the other chickens as he shouts: ]
Mr. Tweedy: Now let that be a lesson to the lot of ya: no chicken escapes from Tweedy's farm!
Babs: I don't want to be a pie! I don't like gravy.
Ginger: So laying eggs all your life and then getting plucked, stuffed, and roasted is good enough for you, is it?
Babs: It's a livin'.
Fetcher: It's raining hen.
[telling Rocky about a caper]
Nick: We slipped into the farmer's room, all quiet like.
Fetcher: Like a fish.
Nick: Yeah, and we... "Like a fish"? You stupid norbert.
[Rocky and Ginger are in an oven]
Rocky: It's like an oven in here.
Ginger: I thought you were teaching us how to fly.
Rocky: That's what I'm doing.
Ginger: Isn't there usually some flapping involved?
Rocky: Hey, do I tell you how to lay eggs?
Rocky: [escaping from circus, shooing through the air]
[shouts]
Rocky: FREEEEEEEEEEEEDOM!
Ginger: [whispering, right after one of the other chickens is killed] We've got to get out of here.
Hen: And what brings you to England, Mr Rhodes?
Rocky: Why, all the beautiful English chicks, of course.
Rocky: Listen. Shh. You hear that?
[silence]
Rocky: That's the open road calling my name, and I was born to answer that call. Bye.
[he leaves]
Babs: He must have very good hearing.
Nick: Eggs from heaven.
Fetcher: No! From her bum.
Bunty: We mustn't panic. We mustn't panic!
[after a second, she and the other chickens all scream]
Nick: [hearing of eggs] Right. Just like the ones that rooster was gonna lay. Only roosters don't lay eggs, do they?
Fetcher: Don't they?
Nick: No, it's a lady thing, apparently - ask your mum.
Ginger: [Overturns the trough] Something is wrong here; can't you see that? Strange boxes arrive during the night. Babs stops laying but they don't take her to the chop, and now they're giving us extra food. Don't you see what's happening? They're fattening us up. They're going to kill us all.
[Chickens, with mouths full, gulp aprehensively]
Rocky: Ouch! What happened to my wing?
Ginger: You took a rather nasty fall.
Mac: [very fast, in strong Scottish accent] And sprained the anterior tendon connecting your radius to your humerus. I gave her a wee bit of a tweak, Jimmy, and wrapped her up.
Rocky: Was that English?
Rocky: [apparently training the chickens] And left, two, three, and right, two, three and... stop right there.
[chickens stop leaning to the side, confused]
Rocky: Oh, yeah. Down.
[chickens stoop]
Rocky: All right, now: make little circles.
[chickens start to spin]
Rocky: That's it, faster, faster... yeah, that hits the spot...
Ginger: [Ginger looks up only to see Rocky sighing in contentment getting massaged; she walks over and clears throat; other chickens wander away, embarrassed] I thought you were going to teach us how to fly.
Rocky: That's what I'm doing.
Ginger: Isn't there usually some flapping involved?
Rocky: Hey. Do I tell you how to lay eggs? Relax. We're making progress!
Ginger: Really? I can't help feeling we're going around in circles.
[motions to the spinning chickens behind her]
Rocky: What the - ? Hey! Cut it out! You're making *me* dizzy!
[chickens stop and start stumbling dizzily]
Rocky: I think they're ready to fly now.
Ginger: Good. Because they certainly can't *walk* anymore.
Fowler: We need more power.
Mac: I cannot work miracles, cap'n. We're giving her all she's got.
[repeated line]
Fowler: Why, back in my RAF days...
Ginger: We can't give you our eggs. They're too valuable.
Nick: And so are we.
[Packing up to leave]
Nick: After you, Fetcher.
Fetcher: ...After I what?
Nick: Move!
Rocky: What's eating Grandpa?
Ginger: Um, I just wanted to say, I may have been a bit harsh at first. Well, what I really mean is: thank you, for saving my life. For saving *our* lives. You know, I come up here every night and look out to that hill, and imagine what it must be like on the other side. It's funny, I've - I've never actually felt grass beneath my feet. I'm sorry. Here I am rambling on about hills and grass, and you had something you wanted to say.
Rocky: Uh, y-yeah. Um, it's just that, you know... life, as I've experienced it - you know, out there lone free rangin' and stuff - it's, uh... it's full of dissapointment, and, uh...
Ginger: What, you mean grass isn't all it's cracked up to be?
Rocky: Grass! Exactly, grass. It's always greener on the other side. And then you get there, and it's brown and prickly. You see what I'm trying to say?
[Ginger starts nodding but then shakes her head]
Rocky: What I'm trying to say is... you're welcome.
Ginger: You know, that hill is looking closer tonight than it ever has before.
[Ginger accidentally touches Rocky's hand and they both pull away, embarrased]
Ginger: Well, good night... Rocky.
Rocky: Good night... Ginger.
Mac: [examining a diagram] I thought we tried going under the fence.
[Ginger flips it]
Mac: Ah! Over! Right!
Rocky: You see, flying takes three things: Hard work, perseverance and... hard work.
Fowler: You said hard work twice!
Rocky: That's because it takes twice as much work as perseverance.
Ginger: There's a whole world out there.
Rocky: You see, over in America, we have this rule. If you want to motivate someone, don't - mention - death!
Ginger: Funny; the rule here is: always tell the truth.
Rocky: Boy, that's been working like a real charm, hasn't it? Let me give you some free advice: you want them to perform? Tell them what they wanna hear.
Ginger: You mean lie?
[after the chickens have escaped in The Crate and the pie machine has exploded]
Mr. Tweedy: I told you they was organised.
[finding the chickens building the Crate]
Mr. Tweedy: Me tools! Why, you thieving little buggers!
[Rocky is about to be found by the circus]
Ginger: [blackmailing him] Teach us to fly and we'll hide you.
Rocky: And if I don't?
[Ginger pulls breath to squawk]
Rocky: [stops her] Was your father by any chance a *vulture*?
Fowler: Cock-a-doodle-doo! What, what.
Ginger: We need some more things.
Nick: Right you are, miss.
[opens suitcase and pulls out thimbles]
Nick: How about this quality, handcrafted tea set?
Ginger: No, thanks.
Fetcher: [holding a drain plug on a chain] Or this lovely necklace and pendant?
Ginger: It's love...
Nick: [holding a shuttlecock] Or this little number that's all the rage in the most fashionable coops in Paree? Simply pop it on like so...
[pops it on Ginger's head, feathers side up]
Nick: And as the French hens say, "Voilá!"
Fetcher: That is French.
Nick: It's two hats in one, miss. For parties...
[turns shuttlecock over]
Nick: For weddings. Oh, madame! This makes you look like a vision, like a dream.
Fetcher: Like a duck!
[encouraging after a failed day of "flying"]
Rocky: Ducky, I think you flew four feet today!
Nick: Right, four feet! From the roof to the ground.
Rocky: [angry with Ginger] Listen! I've met some hard-boiled eggs in my day, but I'd say you're about 20 minutes!
Rocky: Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You wanna get every chicken in this place out of here *at the same time*?
Ginger: Of course.
Rocky: You're certifiable! You can't pull off a stunt like that; that's suicide.
Ginger: Where there's a will, there's a way.
Rocky: Couldn't agree more. And I *will* be leaving *that* way.
Rocky: [Presenting himself] You see, I'm a traveller by nature. I did that whole barnyard thing for a while but I couldn't really get into it.
[to one of the chickens]
Rocky: Hi, how are you?
[she swoons and faints, Rocky continues]
Rocky: Nope! The open road, that's more my style. Yep, just give me a pack on my back and point me where the wind blows. In fact, you know what they call me back home? You're gonna love this: The Lone Free Ranger.
Babs: Chicken feed. My favourite!
Rocky: You know what your problem is? You're... difficult.
Ginger: Why? Because I'm honest? I *care* about what happens to them! Something I wouldn't expect a Lone Free Ranger to know anything about!
Rocky: Hey, if that's the way you go about showing it, I hope you never care about me!
Ginger: I can assure you, I never will.
Rocky: Good!
Ginger: Fine!
[flings Ginger into the coal-bunker "cooler"]
Mr. Tweedy: Now let that be a lesson for the lot of ya - no chicken escapes from Tweedy's farm!
Ginger: But you're supposed to be up there - you're the pilot.
Fowler: Don't be ridiculous. I can't fly this contraption.
Ginger: Back in your day? The Royal Air Force?
Fowler: 644 Squadron, Poultry Division - we were the mascots.
Ginger: You mean you never actually *flew* the plane?
Fowler: Good heavens, no! I'm a chicken! The Royal Air Force doesn't let chickens behind the controls of a complex aircraft.
Mrs. Tweedy: They're *chickens*, you dolt. Apart from you, they're the most stupid creatures on this planet. They don't plot, they don't scheme, and they are *not* organized.
Rocky: Easy, Pops. Cockfighting is illegal where I come from.
Ginger: I should turn you in right now.
Rocky: You wouldn't! Would you?
Ginger: Give me one reason why I shouldn't.
Rocky: Because I'm... cute?
[Ginger squawks to attract the farmer's attention]
Rocky: Hey, hey, hey, hey. Wwhat kind of crazy chick are you? Do you know what'll happen if he finds me?
Ginger: [quoting him] It's a cruel world.
Rocky: I just decided, I don't like you.
Ginger: I just decided, I don't care.
Rocky: Ouch! What happened to my wing?
Ginger: You took a rather nasty fall.
Mac: [in fast-paced, thick Scottish accent] And sprained the Anterior Tendon connecting your Radius to your Humerus. I gave it a wee bit of a tweak, and wrapped her up.
Rocky: Was that English?
Mr. Tweedy: [being attacked by chickens] Mrs Tweedy! The chickens are revolting!
Mrs. Tweedy: [with her back turned] Finally, something we agree on.
Nick: What are you sobbin' about, you nancy?
Fetcher: Little moments like this, mate. It's what makes the job all worthwhile. Wanna dance?
Nick: ...Yeah, all right.
Mr. Tweedy: What... what... what's all this, then?
Mrs. Tweedy: This is our future, Mr. Tweedy. No more wasting time with petty egg collecting and minuscule profits.
Mr. Tweedy: No more eggs? But we've always been egg farmers. Me father, and his father, and all their fathers, they was all...
Mrs. Tweedy: Poor. Worthless. Nothings. But all that is about to change. This will take Tweedy's farm out of the Dark Ages and into full-scale automated production. Melicia Tweedy will be poor no longer.
[after the reason for Rocky's flying ability is discovered]
Mac: A cannon. Aye, *that* would give ye thrust.
Mr. Tweedy: Me tools! Why you thieving little buggers!
Mac: What's the plan?
Ginger: ATTAAACK!
[tackles a startled Mr. Tweedy]
Bunty: [following suit] Nice plan!
[the plane reels as Mrs. Tweedy hangs on to it]
Fowler: Great Scott, what was that?
Mac: A cling-on, Cap'n, and the engines can't take it.
Rocky: Sleep tight, angel face. The Rock's on the case.
Fowler: Good grief! The turnip's bought it!
Rocky: ...And the pig says to the horse, "Hey, fella. Why the long face?"
[Bunty is about to be shot out of a slingshot]
Fetcher: The tension's killing me.
Nick: It's gonna kill her.
Rocky: What's happening? What's going on?
Babs: They took Ginger, Mr. Rhodes! They're taking her to the chop!
Fowler: Well, what are you waiting for, laddie? Fly over there. Save her!
Rocky: Of course - No, No! That's just what they'd expect. But I say, we give them the old element of surprise.
Fowler: [chuckling] And catch Jerry with his trousers down. I like the sound of that; what's the plan?
Rocky: The plan... um, the plan. The plan! Uh - Babs, give me that thing. Bunty, give me a boost.
[Mr. Tweedy has attached Ginger to the clamps of the newly-completed chicken pie machine and activates it, bring Ginger toward the mouth of the machine]
Mr. Tweedy: Chickens go in; pies come out. Chicken pies. Not apple pies, chicken.
Rocky: Is there a problem here?
Ginger: Have we flown over that fence?
Rocky: Not, uh... not quite.
Ginger: Then there's a problem.
Mac: [very rapidly, with a thick Scottish accent] Thrust! I went over my calculations, hen, and I forgot the key element missing is thrust!
Rocky: [after a long pause] I didn't get a word of that.
Mac: Thrust. Other birds, like ducks and geese, when they take off, what do they have?
[shouts]
Mac: Thrust!
Rocky: I swear she ain't using real words.
Ginger: She said we need more thrust.
Rocky: Oh, thrust! Of course we need thrust. Why, thrust and flying are, well, like this.
[crosses fingers]
Rocky: See, that's flying and that's thrust.
[Edwina has been sent to the chop after she fails to produce any more eggs]
Ginger: Bunty, why didn't you give her some of yours?
Bunty: I would have. She didn't tell me. She didn't tell anyone.
Fowler: Keep pedaling! We're not there yet! You can't see paradise if you don't pedal!
[after Rocky leaves]
Babs: Perhaps he just went on holiday.
Bunty: [grabbing Babs' knitting, throwing it on the ground, and stomping on it] Perhaps he just went to get away from your infernal knitting!
Mac: Well, you were the one that was always hitting him. Let's see how you like it.
[shoves Bunty]
Bunty: Don't push me, four-eyes.
[other chickens start fighting]
[Fetcher and Nick are stealing tools, hiding in gnomes as they move about while Mr. Tweedy is working; they steal the tools and start walking away and Mr. Tweedy notices]
Mr. Tweedy: So, gnomes now, is it?
Ginger: This isn't good, Mac. IWhatever is in those boxes is for us, and I don't think it's softer hay.
Mac: Right, we tried going under the fence, and that didn't work. So the plan now is, we go over it.
[Unveils the model catapult]
Mac: [Holds up turnip chicken] This is us, right? We go in here, like this, wind her up, and let her go!
[Catapult sends turnip flying into wall; chickens cluck frantically]
Ginger: Uh, Mr. Rhodes, perhaps I didn't explain our situation properly. We lay eggs; day in and day out. And when we can't lay any more, they kill us.
Rocky: It's a cruel world, dollface. Might as well get used to it.
Ginger: What part of 'They kill us' do you not understand?
Rocky: [to Ginger after being put against the wall] You know, you're the first chick I ever met with the shell still on.
[Fowler is forced to share his bunk with Rocky]
Fowler: Absolutely outrageous! Asking a senior officer to share his quarters. And with a noncommissioned Yank, no less. Why, back in my day, I'd never...
Rocky: Hey! You weren't exactly *my* first choice, either. And scoot over. Your wing's on my side of the bunk.
Fowler: *Your* side of the bunk? The *whole bunk* is my side of the bunk!
Rocky: [snapping back] Just... What's that smell? Is that your breath?
Fowler: It's absolutely outrageous.
[Fowler is hesitant about piloting the Crate]
Ginger: Fowler, you *have* to fly it. You're always talking about "back in your day"; well, *today* is your day.
[extends to Fowler his medal]
Bunty: You can do it, you old sausage.
Fowler: [stares at the medal for a moment, takes it, and salutes Ginger] Wing Commander T.I. Fowler, reporting for duty.
[walking in on a jazz party]
Fowler: Now see here! I, I don't recall authorising a hop!
Bunty: Oh, shut up and dance!
Nick: We slipped into the farmer's room, all quiet like...
Fetcher: Like a fish!
Nick: Yeah, and we...
[turns to Fetcher]
Nick: "Like a fish"? You stupid norbert.
Nick: [of the radio] Well, here she is. Ask and you shall receive.
Fetcher: That's Biblical.
Nick: That's real craftmanship, is what it is. Solid as a rock.
Fetcher: [Fbangs on it; a knob flies off and hits a chicken] It's supposed to do that.
Fowler: [of Rocky] I don't like the look of this one. His eyes are too close together.
Ginger: Fowler, please.
Fowler: And he's a Yank.
Rocky: Guys, you are without a doubt the sneakiest, most light-fingered thieving parasites I've ever met.
Nick: [flattered] Oh, don't, don't. Stop it!
Fetcher: I've gone bright red.
[Rocky was hiding beneath Ginger's nest while Mrs. Tweedy was searching for him]
Ginger: Comfortable?
Rocky: [strained] Not, really.
Ginger: [produces a plastic knife to wedge between him and the wood frame] Maybe this'll help.
Ginger: Heaven help us.
Ginger: You know what the problem is? The fences aren't just round the farm. They're up here, in you heads. There's a better place out there, somewhere beyond that hill, and it has wide open places, and lots of trees... and grass. Can you imagine that? Cool, green grass.
Hen: Who feeds us?
Ginger: We feed ourselves.
Hen: Where's the farm?
Ginger: There is no farm.
Babs: Then, where does the farmer live?
Ginger: There is no farmer, Babs.
Babs: Is he on holiday?
Ginger: He isn't anywhere! Don't you get it? There's no morning head count, no farmers, no dogs and coops and keys, and no fences.
Bunty: In all my life I've never heard such a fantastic... load of tripe! Oh, face the facts, ducks: the chances of us getting out of here are a million to one.

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