F.T.P. X Clan

[Intro, Professor X]
Ah, yeah, you’ve gone and did it!
What’s the word?
No more questioning my pedigree, my authenticity, by some radio call letters
What’s the word?
No more questioning the polish I place upon my boot
What’s the word?
F.T.P., zoom zoom zoom before I step!

[Verse 1, Brother J]
One o’clock to two o’clock to three o’clock to four
Murder in progress and time to settle score
Five o’clock to six o’clock and seven come to eight
When it’s time to reach to nine, man, it’s time to get straight
Now ten come eleven, tick-tock on to twelve
Head to toe in black, and you know I’m not for sale
Time for a little dose of “F.T.P.” –
You know what brothers speakin’, man, fuck the police!

[Hook]
Now F.T.P.? (Fuck the police!)
F.T.P. means? (Yeah, Fuck the police!)

[Verse 2, Brother J]
F.T.P., yo man, never “pon the job”
Always eatin’ doughnuts, man, fuck the Babylon
‘Cause we the people that are strong and able
Remember Yusef onto Gavin Cato
Eleanor Bumpurs, Steven Biko, Huey P
Murderers of Malcolm and death of brother King
Government’s producing that white kryptonite
Makin’ sun drinkers into zombies of the night
So now I walk the street, more or less discreet
‘cause the one that take me under might sing the same beat
But how many brothers must a brother see
Shot in the street by this honorable defeat
By a civil-badged trump uniform like a redcoat
I might just catch a flashback and tighten up your collar
Don’t scream a whiff, I won’t help you if you holler
No dollars
Could compensate or make me hesitate
It’s freedom or death, boy, you know I won’t ask
Operation: Snatchback stands for ever task
Now would I ever provoke a poke that won’t or don’t put a poke on the choke? Nope
‘Cause every time I speak wise, you call me civil
Speakin’ like a madman and then you call me bad, man
That’s why I rip and shred and act fool
Pre-pare my people for the Armageddon duel
Because it’s murder, more death, and most have never even tried
Meet me in defenses? While you’re searchin’ through my ride
Sworn to protect, but designed to harass
Search without a warrant: your fingers in my ass
And then you ask me cold, “Spread ‘em,” with my face in the street
Then I say, “F.T.P.”
‘Cause if I ever submit to one of your tricks
I might get a nightstick lick – and
Since I stand protected, yo that seems to be a “no no”
Let me introduce warfare as the bobo
‘cause I’ve grown quite weary of the insults
Slander on the misquote, now children think that we’re a cult
That’s why my attitude is firm as it can be
Shoutin’ loud and proud, man, “Fuck the police!”