Lyrics Fuck the Police - Kottonmouth Kings, Insane Clown Posse

Fuck the Police

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