X-Clan - F.T.P. lyrics

[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, f** the police! [Hook] Now F.T.P.? (f** the police!) F.T.P. means? (Yeah, f** the police!) [Verse 2, Brother J] F.T.P., yo man, never “pon the job” Always eatin' doughnuts, man, f** 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 d**h 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 d**h, 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 d**h, and most have never even tried Meet me in defenses? While you're searchin' through my ride Sworn to protect, but designed to hara** Search without a warrant: your fingers in my a** 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, “f** the police!” [Hook] Now F.T.P.? (f** the police!) F.T.P. means? (Yeah, f** 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, “n***a, 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-k**ing 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!