The chief had a drank for twenty years or so
And stayed drunk enough to call the streets his home
He was working on a hand-held totem pole until
Boy blue looked his way

The drink and his style stayed clogged in his ear
Or maybe he was to drunk to notice or fear
That man with a gun raising hell
About his blade.

The chief kept walking, not knowing he should stop
And with a whisper of a warning that is as far as he got
Boy blue put four in his back my god
What a man.

'This doesn't reflect on the whole brigade'
But discipline and punishment, like magic, fade
They protect their own so Mr. Birk
Just hid away.

The lesson here is one of fear
One of panic and add the right to ****
Try your words before you send an old man
To his grave.