Bounce on a tire. There is one at the front of the house and more all around.

GIT GUD

You have to free a chicken from slavery. We waz wingz!

Keep Git Gud gooder. For all rounds.

Grab as many chickens as possible and throw them in the cage.

5 chickens. In the cage. Do it now. Get them in the cage. One game. In the cage.

This must be done as Soda. Go up to a door and press E. Frank can also open doors but doesn't trigger when he uses his boozoka.

Get those Eggs! Easiest with 3-gg as he can hold 2 eggs.

Break those windows. Just the windows. DOWN WITH THE SYSTEM MAN!

Extract all the eggs by yourself. Either play a 1v1 or tell everyone to leave them next to the nest.
[Scene: The chickens are trying to stealthily escape the farm at night.]
Bunty: Shush!
Bunty: I'm stuck!
Ginger: Get back!
Mrs Tweedy: Mr Tweedy. What is that chicken doing outside the fence?
Mr Tweedy: Oh! Haha, I don't know love, I-
Mrs Tweedy: Just deal with it. Now.
Mr Tweedy: I'll teach you to make a fool out of me.
Mr Tweedy: Now let that be a lesson to the lot of you! No chicken escapes from Tweedy's farm!
[Scene: One morning after a failed escape attempt the previous night.]
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?
Fowler: Roll call! Come along there, you'll be late for parade! Pip, pip. Quick march. Left, right, left, right, left, right... Come on! Smarten up!
Bunty: Ow!
Fowler: Disclipine! Order! Back in my RAF days when the senior officer called for a scramble, you;d hop in the old crate and tally-ho! Chocks away!
Bunty: Give over you old fool, they just want to count us.
Fowler: H-How dare you talk back to a senior ranking officer? Why back in my RAF days...
Ginger: Fowler, they're coming. Back in line!
Fowler: Oh, alright. There'll be a stern reprimand for you lad, you're grounded.
Fowler: Atten-TION!
Mac: Welcome back, hen. Is there a new plan?
Mac: I thought we tried going under? Ah, over. Right.
Ginger: How's the egg count?
Bunty: I've laid five eggs this morning, FIVE! Well chuffed with that, I was-
Fowler: SHUSH!
Ginger: Oh no... Edwina! Bunty, why didn't you give her some of yours?
Bunty: I would have-- she didn't tell me! She didn't tell anyone!
Babs: Ooh, is Edwina off on holiday?
Ginger: We've got to get out of here...
Mac: Ginger! Are we still on?
Ginger: Oh, we're on alright. Spread the word Mac: Meeting tonight in Hut 17.
[Scene: At the same night, the chickens huddle together to conduct a new escape plan.]
Nick: You called. Nick and-
Fetcher: Fetcher.
Nick: At your service.
Ginger: Over here.
Ginger: We need some more things.
Nick: Right you are, Miss. How about this quality hand-crafted tea-set?
Ginger: Uh, no-
Fetcher: Or this lovely necklace and pendant?
Ginger: It's lov-
Nick: Or this beautiful little number. All the rage in the fashionable chicken coops of Paris. Simply pop it on like so, and as the French hens say: Voila!
Fetcher: That is French.
Nick: That's two hats in one, Miss. For parties-- for weddings. Oh, Madame, this makes you look like a vision, like a dream!
Fetcher: Like a duck.
Ginger: No, thank you. We're making this; we need these things. Can you get them?
Nick: Oof, this is a big job, Miss. Oh, bigger than the others, oh no no... this is gonna cost.
Ginger: Same as always; one bag of seed.
Nick: You call this pay?
Fetcher: It's chicken feed.
Ginger: What else could we give you?
Nick: Eggs.
Ginger: Eggs?!
Fetcher: Eggs!
Ginger: We can't give you our eggs, they're too valuable!
Nick: And so are we. After you, Fetcher.
Fetcher: ...After I what?
Nick: Move!
Fetcher: Wooah!
[Scene: Inside the Tweedys' house; Mr Tweedy is growing suspicious of the chickens.]
Mrs Tweedy: [mumbling] -nine shillings and thruppence... seven and six pence times three... two and nine... four pence ha'penny...
Mrs Tweedy: Doh! Stupid, worthless creatures! I'm sick and tired of making minuscule profits.
Mr Tweedy: Ohh, yes. Those chickens are up to something...
Mrs Tweedy: Quiet. I'm onto something.
Mr Tweedy: They're organised, I know it.
Mrs Tweedy: I said quiet.
Mr Tweedy: That ginger one... I reckon she's their leader...
Mrs Tweedy: MR TWEEDY! I may finally have found a way to make us some real money around here, and what are you on about? Ridiculous notions of escaping chickens!
Mr Tweedy: B-But-
Mrs Tweedy: It's all in your head, Mr Tweedy. Say it.
Mr Tweedy: It's all in my head, it's all in my head...
Mrs Tweedy: Now you keep telling yourself that, because I don't want to hear another word about it. Is that clear?
Mr Tweedy: Yes, love... but you know that Ginger one-
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 ORGANISED!
[Scene: The chickens meet together inside Hut 17.]
Ginger: Order! Order! Quiet, everyone! Settle down. I would like to call to order the big- oh.... Please, if you could just-
Fowler: Quiet there! Let's have some discipline in the ranks, what what!
Ginger: Thank you, Fowler-
Fowler: In my RAF days we were never allowed to waste time with unnecessary chit-chat.
Ginger: Yes thank you, Fowler.
Fowler: I... Right. *ahem* Carry on.
Ginger: Now, I know our last escape attempt was a bit of a fiasco. But Mac and I have come up with a brand new plan. Show 'em, Mac.
Mac: Right, we tried going under the wire and that didn't work. So, the plan is: We go over it. This is us, right? We get in like this, wind her up...and let her go!
Chickens: *Screaming*
Fowler: Good grief! The turnip's bought it!
Ducky: Farmer's coming!
Fowler: Operation Cover-up!
Mrs Tweedy: MR TWEEDY!
Mr Tweedy: Ouch-
Mrs Tweedy: WHERE ARE YOU?
Mr Tweedy: It's all in your head, It's all in your head, it's all in your head...
Ginger: Think everyone think. What haven't we tried yet?
Bunty: We haven't tried not trying to escape.
Babs: Hmm, that might work!
Ginger: What about Edwina? How many more empty nests will it take?
Bunty: Well perhaps it wouldn't be empty if she'd spent more time laying and less time escaping.
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 living.
Ginger: You know what the problem is? The fences aren't just 'round the farm, they're up here- in your heads. There's... a better place out there, somewhere beyond that hill and... well it has wide-open spaces and lots of trees and grass. Can you imagine that cool, green grass...
Ducky: Who feeds us?
Ginger: We feed ourselves.
Agnes: Well, 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 egg-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!
Bunty: 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.
Fowler: Ouch!
[Scene: Ginger steps out of the hut and breaks down in tears, slowly losing hope. She then meets someone who eventually turns her life around.]
Ginger: *in tears* Oh no, oh no, oh no... what am I doing... Who're you trying to fool, you can't lead these bunch of- Grr... Heaven help us...
Rocky: *screaming in the distance* FREEDOM!!!
Ginger: *laughing*
Rocky: *falling and hitting a bunch of stuff* OOF! WAAAGH!!! WOOAH!
Rocky: Thank you ladies & gentlemen, you've been a wonderful audience...
Chickens: Ouch! By'eck!
Ginger: That's it! Get him inside, quickly.
[Scene: Inside the hut, meeting Rocky]
Ginger: This is our way out of here.
Babs: We'll make posters?
Ginger: *sighs* What's on the poster, Babs? What's on the poster? We'll fly out!
Babs: He must be very important to have his picture taken. What do you suppose he does?
Bunty: Well isn't it obvious? He's a professional flying rooster. He flies from farm to farm giving demonstrations!
Babs: Do you suppose?
Bunty: Oh, absolutely.
Rocky: *muttering to himself* Ugh, no, no not in there... no get out, g-gotta get, AH-!
Rocky: AHH! Who're you? Where am I? What's going on- Ouch! What happened to my wing...?
Ginger: You took a rather nasty fall.
Mac: And sprained the interior tendon connecting your radius to your humerus. I gave her a wee bit of a tweak Jimmy and wrapped her up.