I am the cop

Come out, hands up

They're busting down the walls

They're tearing up the floor

I got two hostages

Who do not want to live

It's tough to run

With these chains around my feet

And these three broken toes

It's hard to breathe

With a harsh burning throat

And a boot-flatened nose

At an Easter Sunday

I am the cop

Come out, hands up

The helicopters hirrin

I see the tear gas fall

I got no bullets left

I never owned a gun

Back in the woods

In this trail, my (?)

I shall meet my demise

I won't go back

To that black prison cell

Where my bodied has life

At an Easter Sunday

At an Easter Sunday

At an Easter Sunday