DON’T FUCK THE POLICE
Fuck the police! Said NWA
I used to have to ring the cops as part of the day job
Find out who’d been Twocking, or going out on the rob
So me and Sarj would have our daily giggle
As I noted down the names and numbers, details, titbits for the Daily Tittle-Tattle
We’d compare nutters, raise our eyebrows (coo!) at the general public.
I’d generally publicise what crime news he wanted to share
– which was the nice bit about papers, we’d often declare.
I put on Cop Killer.
I joined in the whoop, whoops on the Sound of the Police
I sang it loud: Whoop, whoop, the Sound of the
“Officer, officer, officer, overseer” – sneered KRS1
It takes a nation of millions to hold us back, went Public Enemy’s Number 1
Don’t trust the
Bizzies, the thick blue scum
All coppers are bastards, said the graffiti on the wall.
How’d a black man get those bruises? Was he pushed, or did he fall?
He wasn’t like the cops on the TV or in the mind of a hip hop MC.
The nearest he got to a soul brother was his
Beautiful South CD
He was more like a social worker. A carer in the community.
Doing paper work, visiting schools, bringing in the drunk and disorderly.
BH here, a G BH there. His last murder was in 2003.
I wanted to be down with the kids. I wanted to Express Meself with a hard-nosed rhyme.
Undermining people you don’t even know, who do the job you couldn’t do
Making sweeping generalisations when you’re on the mic
Just to fill track 19 on CD Two
Speaking out is fine, but when it’s out your arse it ain’t
And all you sucker MCs better get dis! U gonna hear dis bitch complain.
Yeah, I’m down with Snoop Dogg, but I don’t live in
My homies all eat olives and live yoghurt biopots.
Meanwhile, petty thefts, lost dogs, a teenage runaway,
Drunken schoolkids, confused pensioners are filling the in-tray
They’re all the duties of another busy day
For the quiet-minded carer that is Sergeant Kellaway.