Nameless, sexless, raceless susp3ect Landrum (now deceased)
   Lives on in the black and white, rote recitals of a police report
      Charging him with attempted murder

Trapped for all eternity in these pages,
   He is no longer a young black man
      Brought up short in a town so toweringly ivory
         Most of my more colorful friends
            Have fled to the safety of Pomona
               … Or L.A.

And we know it wasn’t just a coupla white cops
   Who went on shift that evening
      Muttering around mouthfuls of bad coffee and worse donuts
         That tonight they were gonna hunt down a black man
            And make it look like he brought it on himself
And they didn’t confer by radio
   Carefully selecting exemplary citizen
      Ivin Paul Landrum
         Running home from practicing with the church choir
            Delayed when he stopped to rescue a stray puppy

‘Cause it wasn’t a matter of black and white
   Pure innocence fallen to nefarious racism
And we can only guess, second guess at the grey of what happened
   ‘Cause those who know ain’t talking, or they’re dead

Just look at the paper – cops aren’t in the habit of shooting folks
   Unless they have a very good reason
      And those reasons are never unprofessional
         Which is why there’s never been a hint of scandal ‘round shootings
            As cops have rushed to man the ramparts
               Against faking evidence
                  Or planning weapons.

And as the careful recitals of the police report
   And the informational echoes of the bulletins
         Make sure to point out
Irvin Paul Landrum was no angel
   Irvin Paul Landrum was not entirely innocent
      He’d been speeding when he was stopped
         And he volunteered to the cops
            That he’d been convicted of possessing
               A pair of brass knuckles and a knife
                  Destroyed by order of the court he confessed to

            And he’d collected a speeding ticket
               And a warning for expired registration
                  (Both without firing on the cops writing them)
            And he’d been charged,
               Though not convicted, with
                  Challenging his girlfriend to fight

            (And you know how cops abhor domestic violence
               They’ve been so eager to protect victims
                  And arrest perpetrators that we had to pass
                     A law specifically telling them
                        To do just that)

And Irvin Paul Landrum, suspected violent domestic,
   Stopped in the middle of the night
      Was a speeder, convicted of owning brass knuckles
         And not paying his registration
            None of which are capital crimes

But they say that he fired, and they never ask why

But it wasn’t a matter of black and white
   Pure black innocence fallen to racist white cops
And we can only guess, second guess at the grey of what happened
   ‘Cause those who know ain’t talking, or they’re dead

And they say that he started it all
   Point out that this was no innocent Irvin Paul Landrum
      Who was shot in a black and orange sweater
         And black pants that Officer Hanna noted were baggy

And they say it’s just coincidence that he was black and the cops were white

And it just happens that the gun they saw him fire
   Hadn’t been fired
      And pure chance that he pointed it at them
         Without leaving a fingerprint, or smear, or hint of a smudge
            And sheer luck that there wasn’t enough residue on his hands
               To prove that he’d shot anything at all.

And I wonder if this repeatedly not innocent Irvin Paul Landrum, Jr.
   Was in fact, tried on that lonely stretch of Baseline
      And found guilty of being a statistically criminal black man
         Who threatened them with baggy pants
            Driving them to reply with lethal force
               And the full force of law they control
But there’s nothing in the penal code about being statistical criminal
   And Irvin Paul Landrum was charged with firing on these cops
      With a gun they can’t prove he owned
         With a gun he may never have touched
            And a gun that hadn’t been fired

And Irvin Paul Landrum bled into the academic ivy the side of the road
   And never made a statement
      And died, silently, a name on a report
         Executed for attempted homicide
            Never able to speak in his own defense.

‘But it wasn’t a matter of black and white
   Black innocence fallen to white law enforcement
And we can only guess, second guess at the grey of what happened
   ‘Cause those who know ain’t talking, or they’re dead

And we hung our guilt on this statistically criminal black man
   Convicted speeder, payment-evader, and brass-knuckle owner
      Who wasn’t from Claremont
         Who didn’t belong around here
            And I say, next time,
               Let he who is truly innocent
                  Fire the first round.