| Ah fuck, not this asshole again
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| (All right, superstar, hands on the steering wheel.)
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| What’s the fuckin' problem, man?)
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| (Any drugs or any weapons in the vehicle?)
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| (I'm Frank Babbit, goddamit; I mean business, punk)
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| I know who you are. |
| Fuck that
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| (I told you boys I got my eyes on you)
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| Fuck the police
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| Man, lick these nuts
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| (What did you just say?)
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| Fuck the police
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| (Why you gotta sweat us?)
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| I’ll tell you why I’m sweating
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| They say protect and serve, then why the fuck am I handcuffed on the curb?
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| Hey, outta of the car gun
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| Well here’s another tale from the Subnoize shot callers
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| Put it on the scale and we show you how to clock dollars
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| Banging down the block
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| , got my system on hit
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| Fly ass bitch all over my dick
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| Take another hit of the chronic
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| than I bounce down to Johnny Richter’s house so I could score another ounce
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| Well that’s the way it is — I’m a Kottonmouth King
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| Rolling through the 'burbs, blowing big smoke rings
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| Cops on my tail; |
| they in hot pursuit
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| I got my 215 but no excuse for the loot
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| I’m holding over 10 Gs, mostly big face bills
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| I got some old warrants and a bottle of pills
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| I gotta think fast, so I’m heading to the pokey
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| I banged a quick left and I ditched Old Smokey
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| Pig flew by, didn’t look my way
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| I must be higher than I thought — today’s a damned good day
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| Fuck you — I buy bacon, we don’t need it on the streets
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| If a problem crackin' off I sure don’t call the police
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| I’m calling snipers in your city code, cops I smell
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| Only trying to make a buck up off us — crooked as hell
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| I smashed on 'em by the simple fact that I’m holding 30 pounds
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| Make my way up into Michigan, smoke it with the clowns
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| You are not dealing with illegal people
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| No longer safe or sound
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| Bullets are flying all over the place
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| And blood is soaking the ground
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| I’m squeezing the hell out of Rugers and Glocks
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| You seeing them flatten their flocks
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| I speeding away and heating the box
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| We play some weed and flip a bitch up in the hurry fashion
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| And who now do I see? |
| It’s Violent J, hatchet slashin'
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| I’m sick of swine in my area
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| Yeah, it’s Mr. Dirt Bags
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| Pigs all up in my biz
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| (What did you just call me?
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| All together now: fuck 'em
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| They got for sales in my distribution grid
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| (Fuck you, punk ass.)
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| (Dispatch, I got a '78 Cutlass sedan, smoke billowing out. Two Caucasian males
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| with paint. |
| A license plate ICP. |
| Run a check please.)
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| Cruising down the street
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| It’s the do-gooder Duke of the wicked Violent J Jake the Big Dog
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| Drinking Faygo like a madman
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| I’m screaming «Fuck the police!»
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| Well if I see them lights flash
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| With the shoka soogy back flip I fatten that lip
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| Cuz fuck going to the stone bone
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| I’d rather bury one of you butt nuggets away
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| I’m a wicked ass clown (with stiffs in the trunk)
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| And when I grip the whip (you can sniff in the funk)
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| Kid, cuz where I’m from it ain’t about all that playin'
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| Now that’s what I’m saying (whoop!)
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| I hear the sirens blare
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| In the middle of your donut treat is my meat
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| You can «e me now, bitch, cuz I’m so sweet
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| I’m trying to roll this blunt
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| (Yeah, I’m gonna roll your clown ass)
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| What the fuck you want?
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| (Is that a hatchet in the back seat?)
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| Yeah, it’s all fun and games
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| 'Til I saw your face off and choke your brains
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| (Yeah, looks like I got myself a little Richter here)
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| What’s your fuckin' problem, man?
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| (Get out of the car, asswipe. I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you)
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| Why’d you even pull me over?
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| (Yeah, some people never learn. Hey if you run I’m pulling steel!)
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| Man, fuck you motherfucker!
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| Man I just hate it when I start the blaze and see the blue and red behind my head
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| Now they’re harassing me, asking me where I’m going, where I’ve been
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| There’s people passing me laughing and now I’m starting to get upset
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| Why you harassing me, pig?
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| Yeah, I gotta fuck you for the boys in blue
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| And all the undercovers, yeah, fuck you too
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| Got a big old bowl of fuck you soup
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| And if yous fuck gonna catch you soon
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| About my stash and grow room or we might have to hunt you down
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| Touch tomb, desert for a dunes doom
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| Trying to fuck the police ones with real big boo, boo, boobs
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| Yeah, fuck the police
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| That’s become a straight from the leg (you know)
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| Up on the hill you know we puffing on the dank
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| And taking on the fakes is what we do We shuckin' rocks, you know, at your crew
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| We drink and brew, you know we getting tattoo
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| We killing sex in the afternoon
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| And talk about me (what?)
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| Talk about who (you know)
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| Get this popo out his blue
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| Y’all can suck my dick
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| I want some weed shit
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| I’m saying fuck the police
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| Coming straight from J Rich |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fuck the Police, artist - Kottonmouth Kings. Album song Most Wanted Highs, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп