They say the streets are mean. They ain't entirely wrong. The streets themselves are squeaky clean, it's the rats that infest them that're up to no good. Hiding in shadows, nipping at the ankles of honest men and women. Just a bunch of punks trynna rewrite history before some pen's put it to ink.
They say I'm a street sweeper; a man of the law. Feels more and more like I'm nothing more than a gun in a duster. The badge used to mean something. Now it's as good as a target painted on my back.
Chief says "It is what it is." But I say it ain't what it ain't. Rats are getting bolder, their warrens grow. As there's less food on an honest mouse's table, he's bound to turn to a rat's dirty trash.
My wife says to not go out. To stay at home, and let the world sort itself. Right. What kinda man would that make me? It ain't a vocation, no mere paycheck. It's about right and wrong. Sometimes, I see the rats everywhere, even standing beside me. Nothing worse than a rat with a badge. Fur turns to scales, teeth to fangs. These rats sell out everything they stand for. These rats are snakes.
They say a lotta things. Birds chirp, rats squeak, and snakes hiss. Everyone's got a mouth, but nobodies got ears to hear. They don't see what's going on, or they don't want to. Got a funny feelin' none of it's gonna matter none to me, soon enough. I'm walking into the den of snakes, where even rats fear to tread. Gonna tug at that web of corruption, and see what I can shake loose. Had more than enough of the darkness I see on the beat. Someone's gotta bring it to light.
The suits say it can't be done, that the scum's "untouchable". I'm gonna take that word, and make 'em all choke on it. The rats, the snakes, the suits, and anyone else who stands in my way. If this is how I go out, so be it. I'd rather meet my maker, and tell him I took a stand.
I say one thing, and I say it often: The darker their darkness, the harder I'll fight.