[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!