PC Plod

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? 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 That's the Old Bill for ya That's the Old Bill for ya Pull up inside your quarters Sendin' you for a quarter, hey That's the Old Bill for ya That's the Old Bill for ya Them boy there out of order The rozzers, bloody tossers, cozzers, honours, oi, oi Came in like a mortar Smashed up me house inside And lied inside of their disguises And asked me the most mental of questions Like I would ever tell him wherever I'd hide it, mate, mate Just send me straight down to the station I done a couple'a birds, I know how to ride it No suicide, just me kettle and me rights And me left and me rights Why did anybody charge it How can you, how can you quell a man that cares not for your report? They want me freedom, but little geezer No, it's not yours After your subpoenas, who do we lean on for moral support? They got me sweepin' up their wing for a chore The first rule is to never get caught Yeah, the old other lot The other lot Tryna clock the lads that plot At one o'clock Yeah, we bloody had it up, up to the top Go and give a rob to cop Your little job Yeah we had enough of the drops to the court Round to my mate's, cut down his crop Yeah, the old other lot The other lot The measly old PC, PC Plod That's the Old Bill for ya That's the Old Bill for ya Pull up inside your quarters Sendin' you for a quarter, hey That's the Old Bill for ya That's the Old Bill for ya Them boy there out of order The rozzers, bloody tossers, cozzers, honours, oi, oi Tryna turn me into roadkill Still pulling me up on the road, still This ain't supposed to be colloquial Why the f*ck do you think we're so anti-social? Servin' up for a little hopeless meal In the east-end the old folks are ill They told me never to trust Old Bill, still Oi, oi, oi They bloody nicked me about thirty times They bloody nicked me for about thirty crimes Me and the lads'll never stop spreadin' rhymes Me and the lads'll never stop, ay, ay Fuckin' Old Bill, I hate your kind Bloody Old Bill, I hate your kind You wait until it's our bloody time Oi, oi, oi, oi Oi, oi, oi, oi