BRITISH BOBBY
(Fred Wedlock)

I am a British Bobby; I pound a Bobby's beat.
You can tell it's me what's pounding by the banging of my feet.
It's the Bobby's way of keeping warm,
In his Bobby's ufinorm.
I am a British Bobby, from the wilds of Redland Green.

Why I joined the police force I will never know,
Cos' I was almost human till about a month ago.
One consolation to my song:
The customer is always wrong.
I am a nasty Bobby, like the rest up Redland Green.

Pounding on my beat, boys, it makes me very tired,
But if I complain of blisters, I'm sure that I'll be fired.
So they gave me a panda car; now I just get blisters on my elbows.
I am an idle Bobby, kipping down in Redland Green.

Good old Cannabis resins we like it quite a lot,
And if the truth be known, boys, what a lot we've got.
It's issued to us every day
For planting in a crafty way
To become a turned on sergeant, freaking out in Redland Green.

I caught a girl soliciting where I knew I would.
I took her in my Bobby Box and I cautioned her right good.
Took down her name with a frown,
And that's not all what I took down.
I am a virile Bobby, populating Redland Green.

And when I get to old for it--a fight I cannot win--
My helmet and my truncheon I'll have to hand them in.
Hang my whistle on a hook,
Close my little note(e)book.
I'll be a clapped out Bobby, being carried out of Redland Green.