[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!”

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

Come on, F.T.P., yo don’t take me light
The house of the cracker goes BOOM! tonight, on sight

[Interlude, Professor X]
The five o’clock news, the six o’clock news, the seven o’clock news
I say, “F.T.P.”
You say, ??? Republican turned conservatism
I say, “F.T.P.”
You say, “Nigga, restrain yourself!”
I say, “F” – “T” – “P.”

[Verse 3, Brother J]
Yeah
I remember this one, way back in the day
The stupid police were scared to come around the way
Might get checked or might get sprayed
But any way you put it there was nothin’ they can say
So when times get hard they call the National Guard
Then next course? They draft you for the armed force
Now “be all you can be”
When you can fight in foreign lands and never for your land to be free
Now Project X keeps you in check from terrorist attacks
And ones who speak the black
Soul of the livin’, yo they fear the boot-stomp
Zoom chant, comin’ at you from the dark
No way could they ??? man a comp
So any old attempt is just boring me
So since we’re speak war, man let’s kick it like this
Pick some off a mountain let’s throw down within the mist
Murderers, connivers, the world’s in a panic
Sperm-killing soda, dead president addicts
You think I’m satisfied by just stopping traffic?
You best get ready for the twenty million boom automatic
And that’s all I gotta say
F.T.P. I’m ever living for today
Click

[Outro, Professor X]
Here we go!
At President Street, I told you, “F.T.P.”
At the bridge, I told you, “F.T.P.”
As I prayed over Yusef Hawkins, “F.T.P.”
As I kneel before the altar of Gavin Cato, I say, “F.T.P.”
CITYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!