A necklace of rubber, burning bright   A burning rubber necklace for my angel's delight   A holiday in a box, opportunity knocks   for the rich man's militia photographing my block   Kill a cop. Why the hell not?      YEAH!! Burn, motherfucker, burn!   I got a word for you: dead   Got a trampoline--your fuckin' head      You roll down my street in your gleaming new car   I've got no secrets, cash or time left to give you   but I've got something else for you, my friend   A crack in the restless night, a broken bone on the pavement   Angel's delight was a recurring statement   Burn a bailiff--spill, don't save it      YEAH!! Burn, motherfucker, burn!   Run, run, run, run!   You can have what you ask, but not in cash   [with a?] credit card, a payment slashed   You can put it where your mouth used to be   You can put it where your dick used to be   You can [...?] looking at me, looking at you   [...?] blacklist, [...?] blacklist   What do you do when words collapse   and all that's left is broken glass?   I know, I know I'm trapped      I've got a holiday in a big oak box   with my friend, the famous PC Plod, Plod, Plod*   Kill a cop, kill a cop,   you lay a hand on me, I'm gonna kill you, cop.   Hey! Let's all kill some cops.   Some bailiffs.   Assholes.      * "PC Plod" is a well known and derogatory name for a British beat cop. It's capitalized, like "John Q. Public."