Heres that song.
Coppers walking down the street,
With their big huge clumping feet,
Knocking on the doors of snouts,
Gonna sniff those fuckers out!
In you get, son. Mind your head,
Make a sound, we'll walk instead,
Then you'll hang your head in shame,
You know you shouldn't have took the blame.
If that man hadn't dialed 999,
You wouldn't now be doing time,
The rest of the gang are doing fine,
Sat round a table drinking wine.
You're a common thief,
You miss your wife,
You're in for three,
Might as well be life.
Sat in a cell, all on your own,
Is there anyone you'd like to phone,
You'll stay in here until your trial,
Get comfortable, it'll be a while,
Standing up in the dock,
This is no time for taking stock,
Your trousers turn a muddy brown,
As the judge shouts "Take Him Down!"
Swinging from a rope,
You feel yourself starting to choke.
Swinging from a line,
You knew you couldn't do your time.
Swinging from a noose,
You wish someone would cut you loose,
Life starts flashing by your eyes,
You know you shouldn't have told those lies.
Solo Stuff here (screeching guitar solo and other rock cliches)
Fade to end