Not guilty, the filthy devils tried to kill me
When the news get to the hood the nikkas will be
Hotter than cayenne pepper, cuss, bust
Kicking up dust is a must
I can't trust a cracker in a blue uniform
Stick a nikka like an unicorn
Born wicked, Laurence Powell, foul
Cut his fukking throat and I smile
Go to Simi Valley and surely
Somebody knows the address of the jury
Pay a little visit, "who is it?" ("Who is Ice Cube?")
"Can I talk to the Grand Wizard?" Then boom
Make him eat the barrel, modern-day pharaoh
Now he's zipped up like Leather Tuscadero
Pretty soon we'll catch Sergeant Koon
Shoot him in the face, run up in him with a broom-
stick, prick, devils ain't shyt
Introduce his ass to the AK-40-dikk
Two days nikkas laid in the cut
To get some respect, we had to tear this motherfukker up
Lyrics were on point, you couldn't fukk with breh when he got on his "fukk the police" bag.