This is a tribute to all the officers who have died unjustly because of extremists and anarchists.
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| "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.
If only.
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