Pig mounts his steed. Kick the beast in gear. Lead in chamber. Ready to kill. Interceptor. Interceptor. You can't run from the interceptor. Leather shred on pavement. Oil blends to blood. Barrel and the bullet. Trigger slips, you're dead. Interceptor. Interceptor. You can't reason with the interceptor. That pig's a faceless bastion of hatred. Silent and racist. A gun without a soul. For every serve and protect there's an ego left unchecked. On the night you least expect you'll face the lights of the interceptor.
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