He wakes up in a lake of sweat
Cursing the gods that he hasn't died yet
Breakfast beers and a few lines of blow
Should help patch up the gaping hole in his soul
The pig eyes light up, his nerves quiet down
The mood is now right to push the public around
He grabs his badge and his gun, and sets out the door
Eager to fuck over the weak and the poor
No rest from the bullet and the vest
No rest for the hunted and the oppressed
Nobody's safe under the weight of his gaze
They're all guilty of something
God damn, it makes him feel like a real man
When he squeezes the law to pulp in his hand
The city is a stretched out old whore
Who behaves best when forced on all four
Keep the chain of command
Protect the wealth, serve yourself
Keep the night stick at hand