Feed your head, feed your head, feed your head.

Your head... Your head needs a bandage.

Give me your top man there.

Are you the head man around here?

I want to see your boss.

Muss up your hair. You've just had it done.

If you hadn't ducked, that's what your head would've looked like.

Of course, the comic figure in all this is the longsuffering Mr. Wilkes.

Go on, you grayhaired old weasel.

As soon as your head touches the pillow you're off.

Yes, of course I do.

Your hair, you had your hair....

Your scalp.

Come on, you're the leader.

You're underneath it, looking up into the lens of the camera obscura.

Look at your hair.

Your helmet! What are you waiting for?

Mind your head, now.

No.

Yes, sir. Your name'll be all over the front page.

Have you decided to end it all? You idiot, you dummy, you moron!

Do you want it shot off?

And every class needs a leader. You could be that leader, Miller.

FATHER Keep your head up.

Move your head out of the way!

Is your head cold?

You've got a beautiful head.

Wear your crashhelmet!

Bite your tongue!

Where is the master... wise people?

I fondled your bodiless head running my fingers through your hair, making you smile and frown.

That's basically, if you hold two fists together, it's just slightly larger than the two fists.

Untilthebonesare creak with the effort And until you learn to to break a man.

Did you see that brain shot I made on that big bull?

You talk like you're boss of this outfit.

You have lovely hair.

You're crazy, mussin' it up that way.

You're fortunate not to be paying for this with your head.

You stupid fathead, you!

Put your tongue away, Barry.

Your hair is pretty.

You've got the brain of a pancake.

I'll cut your heads off!

Yes, let me see your tongue.

By the way, what is your...rank... is that the word?