“If you narc on me, I’ll rip your arms off”, said Tim to his little brother, as he passed him a cigarette.
Nark it! I hear someone coming!.
He narks in my ear all day, moaning about his problems.
It’s a—well, it’s a copper’s nark, as you might say. What else would you call it? A sort of informer.
It really narks me when people smoke in restaurants.