PC Plod Hak Baker

[Verse 1]
You're gonna need your wits
And you're gonna need your tricks
And you're gonna need your feet planted
And you're gonna need your spit sucked in to mark him
What can you, what can you tell a man that's heard it all before?
How can you, how can you quell a man that cares not for your report?
I can smell 'em, let alone hear them
They smell fearsome, pierce up me eardrums
What do you, what can you tell a man that's heard it all before?
I don't wanna go anywhere near them
They're always mucking up the lads' dodgy dealing
How can you quell a man that cares not for your report?

[Pre-Chorus]
Yeah, the old other lot
The other lot
Tryna give me Mum a knock
At one o'clock
Yeah, we had it, had it up to the top
Go nick the other lot
Go nick a nonce
I've had enough of the search and the stop
I've had enough of the plod, can't stand a lot
Yeah, the old other lot
The other lot
The measly old PC, PC Plod