Song bush

I was in America sat on a roundabout surrounded by a metre wide ring of dying bushes trying to remember a song I’d heard previously.

I’m holding a blue pair of flush angle snips and every time I cut through a branch, I hear a couple of seconds of the song I’m trying to recall.

As I’m trying to listen to the lyrics two policemen come up behind me, then roughly carry me under my arm before throwing me into a futuristic looking police car.