I slapped a man, he slapped me back,
I don't know why; it was out of whack.
He then asked me "got any smack?"
So to him, I said "only got crack."
I'm in a jail cell now,
should have realised he was a cop,
I'm such a silly cow,
and now the judge, his gavel he will bop,
for selling drugs to an undercover cop.

Ten years later, I'm out of prison,
revenge I shall have,
just you wait,
I'll bide my time,
then unleash my hate.

I've found my mark,
prowling, I'm like a shark,
behind him, I go,
tap his shoulder, then stamp his toe.

"Remember me?"
"Ricky Dee!"
His eyes went wide,
my excitement, I couldn't hide.
I raised my knife,
and slashed his wife.

That was silly, for now I'm dead.
He raised his sap and struck my head,
he tended to his bleeding wife,
and for a second I thought I was out of strife.
No such luck,
he had me handcuffed.

Bound and hurt,
I had to do something,
so I raised up,
on my mind, was only one thing:
Officer Pat's death,
for it would be a sweet one.

I ran at him,
and that's when it happened,
a single, clean shot to my forehead.
Now I'm well and truly dead.
My sacrifice, however, will not go unavenged.

My henchmen,
my children,
my addicts,
they will help me,
you will see.

Mark my words,
you will see.