This is a tribute to all the officers who have died unjustly because of extremists and anarchists.
|"Police Officer" from Police Link|
Back in the day we called em' pigs
No idea why, they didn't oink the slightest
They didn't have curly skin tails either,
But they did band together in the trough, mud
Covered up to the knees in it.
Occasionally there were sprinkled donuts,
But that was just a misdemeanor.
Somewhere down the line one slipped
Had to of, why else would they be called pigs?
Dirty Harry kind of guy, tall and ex-mob
He knew the roots, he knew the gun
Only took seconds to take a shot at it.
See he was the man with the gun,
You didn't run from a man with a gun,
Instead you stood there waiting for D-Day;
That exact moment where fire lit you up,
Like the sinful hooky that you were.
See, Harry had a colt revolver, not standard issue,
Big enough to leave a crime scene for sure,
But Harry was the top gun. He had a quarrel
To pick out the brains of his brother's killer,
Or perhaps vengeance for another cause.
Either way this sheep was a gonner.
Bang! The shot heard around the world.
Fires lit up the sky, police cruisers turned over
Blown up half of them, and dead pigs everywhere.
Some in the alleys, some at a picket fence.
Either way it didn't matter, pigs were flying
Over the moon perhaps, injustice prevalent.
But what defines justice to the slaughtered?
New York's butchery should have been enough,
But it wasn't.
Riots on the farm increased pretty fast,
Prices were being put on the heads of many
And the pigs, all dressed to the teeth,
Were there with black jacks in hand.
The annual beat down if someone dared
To take a step forward pass the barn.
One dared to speak: “Honorable Pig!”
One among the crowd of chickens and hens,
One in a million dared to speak out.
If only that one was enough.