ameriKKKa's Most Hated Muslim Poet
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That uniform doesn't disguise the real you,
We know who you are,
You don't become invisible hiding behind that star,

That uniform doesn't make you no superman,
You travel through the land,
Harassing the Brother Man;
Labeling them perpetrators,
You boot lick'n... self hater.
Taking that thirty pieces of silver in a mad dash,
You'll say and do anything to get
Your grubby little hands on that cash,
And oh, by the way, are those freckles on your face
or just... an Uncle Tom's Rash?
You fat mouth way... way... to often.
I hope you don't become the next Sausage
To be stuff into a coffin.
Oh yeah, that's right... you can never be found
When your troops have to throw down.
You're only at your best... when it comes to photo ops
And fat mouth'n to the press.
Wearing your kevlar under panties and matching bullet proof vest.

Jesse James, Cole Younger and the Dalton Gang
All robbed banks and shot cops,
I guess you can say, it's "an ameriKKKan thang,"

Pretty Boy Floyd, John Dillinger, Bonnie and Clyde
Had shoot outs with the cops and committed
Crimes all of the time.
And yall ain't never mentioned their religion...
Now, that's a crime,

Shouldn't you pigs be use to it by now?
Every time one of yall take a fall
Don't seem like none of yall
Can hold back the tears.

Seems like every time yall try to make a bust
More of yall are bite'n the dust
Time after time yall are get'n croaked
Stop wear'n that frown, there's no need to mope,
Cheer up, don't you know we have entered
a new era of hope?

This is not the time to snivel and whine,
Are you seeking public sympathy?
You get paid for the job you do.
You ain't doing no charity work.

Swine ... the public ain't got no empathy or
Sympathy for your kind,
Just the other day I do believe; I heard someone say,
"Everything is gonna change now that Obama has come.

No more living hungry and homeless on the streets
Watching fat cops eat'n...

No more poverty in the ghettos, barrios and slums.
No more Have Nots feel'n the need to stick up banks,
Live life on the run,
While drink'n forty ouncers and live'n by the gun.

There ain't gonna be no more religious or racial profile'n
By the police now, that we have Obama,
All that stuff gonna cease.

No more media hype'n... stereotype'n
Latinos as crazy, The Black Man lazy.
No more fingas on triggas and pigs
Push'n up daisies.

No more need for pigs to be nervous.
When they come in body armor, knee pads,
Guns drawn... Ready to serve us.

The pigs won't have to live in fear, nerves on edge,
Have'n thoughts of abandoning their pledge
To defend, serve and protect.
Psychological wreaks, dressed in blue...
Contemplating what they should do.

No sense of honor and no desire... to serve the City.
You lack individual courage and integrity. Maybe,
It's time you vacate this vicinity?

With behavior resembling the antics
Of emotional little girls,
We see them on TV... oh,
How abundantly their tears do flow.

DEATH, comes with the job, didn't you know?
DEATH, comes with the job, didn't you know?
DEATH... comes with the job, didn' t you know?

Crying like babies over the loss of
A fellow officer and friend
Who met his end from bullets
That sped from the muzzle's end.

Another pig lying dead...
Bullet entered the front...
Blew the brains out the back of his head...
And the Gangsta fled.
Leaving another pig drowning in a puddle of red.

That's the way it goes in The Wild Wild East,
Another dead police,

Knock, Knock, Knock... I got to stop.
An Uncle Tom Negro just squealed to the cops

The pigs are at my door.
A snitch told them I had a keyboard and was writ'n some more.
They are outside,
The philadelphia police, the fbi, and the cia 'Negro-she-ator,"
Yell'n, tell'n... me to surrender,
They've labeled me a Typographical Repeat Offender.

Drop your keyboard...
Come out with your hands up
Or we'll riddle your body from
Your head down to your butt.

Come on in and get me cop'ers.
You'll never take me alive.
Like Jimmy Cagney and Edward G... see
" You dirty rats you'll never take me alive.

Yeah... see, unlike you... you dirty rats...
I ain't afraid to die!

One hundred and thirty three did bum rush Me,
Wrestle'n me to the floor.
I looked up to see Freckles standing
BEHIND his men at the door.

He gave the command, "break all his fingers on both hands,
So ... he can type no more,"
And pass me a pigs foot please!

I ain't gonna lie, the pain was gigantic
And the pigs were still frantic
But then they decided not to beat me until I die,
Getting a little smarter,
Fearful they might make me a Martyr ...
Only then did a tear form in my eye.

The pigs are vicious and like carnivores
When they out number you one hundred to one,
But, when the odds are less
And they are without their guns and vest,
If they can... they'll run like the dogs they are.

Everything still remains the same,
And they said everything was gonna change,
When President Obama came.

Habib Abu Lateef

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