Jack Kelly: So what do you say, Spot?
Spot Conlon: I say... that what you say... is what I say.
Racetrack: I say, that what Spot Conlon says, is what I say.
Spot Conlon: Your honor, I object.
Judge Monahan: On what grounds?
Spot Conlon: On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor.
Racetrack: In 1899, the streets of New York City echoed with the voices of newsies, peddling the papers of Joseph Pulitzer, William Randalph Hearst, and other giants of the newspaper world. On every corner you saw them carrying the banner. Bringing you the news for a penny a pape. Poor orphans and runaways, the newsies were a ragged army without a leader, until one day all that changed.
Joseph Pulitzer: Know what I was doing at your age, boy? I was in a war. The Civil War.
Jack Kelly: Yeah, I heard of it. So, did ya win?
Joseph Pulitzer: People think war is about right or wrong and not power.
Jack Kelly: Yeah, I heard of that too. I don't just sell your papes, Joe. Sometime I read 'em.
Crutchy: It's this brain of mine, it's always makin' mistakes... it's got a mind of its own.
Jack Kelly: It ain't lyin'. It's just improvin' the truth a little.
Jack Kelly: So this snooty mug says to me, 'You can't see Mr. Pulitzer. No one sees Mr. Pulitzer.' Real hoity-toity, you know the type?
Les Jacobs: Real hoity-toity.
Jack Kelly: So that's when I says to him, 'Listen, I ain't in the habit of transacting no business with office boys. Just tell him Jack Kelly's here to see him now!'.
Les Jacobs: That's when he threw us out.
David Jacobs: From now on, we trust no-one but the Newsies.
Kid Blink: They jacked up the price. You hear that? Ten cents a hundred! Ya know, it's bad enough that we gotta eat what we don't sell. Now they jacked up the price! Can you believe that?
Jack Kelly: Got no brains. Why we starting to fight each other? Its just what the big shots wanna see. That we're street trash, street rats with no brains. No respect for nothin' including ourselfs. So heres how it is if we don't act together then we nothin'. If we don't stick together we nothin'. And if we can't even trust each other, then we nothin'. So whats it gunna be?
Spot Conlon: Where's my picture? Where does it mention me?
Jack Kelly: Stop thinking about yourself.
Pulitzer: Now when I created the World.
Skittery: This'll bust me, I'm barely makin' a livin' right now.
Mush: Howd'ya sleep, Jack?
Jack Kelly: On me back, Mush.
Kid Blink: I smell money.
Crutchy: You smell foul.
Jack Kelly: No, it's 19, Weasel. It's 19. But don't worry about it. It's an honest mistake. I mean, Morris, he can't count to 20 with his shoes on.
Racetrack: You get your picture in the papes, you're famous. You're famous, you get anything you want. That's what's so great about New York.