The American Dream - Dan Bull

Look, Tommy Angelo ain’t usually the kind of guy to spill the beans

But beneath the glitz and gleam, this business is filled with fiends

So I’m switching teams, snitching, sneaking, went my way

Then slinking off to witness protection at Empire Bay

Never thought I’d be an informer, officer, I ain’t your rat

But if it’s either that or getting kneecapped with a baseball bat

Then it’s obvious, I got no option but to cough it up

So you’re gonna hear me singing like a canary at the opera

Or a broad who’s getting loose as a goose at the speakeasy

Jeez, I’ve seen scenes obscene enough to make queasy

See, we kinda like the finer things the violence brings

Fine dining and wine to drink, a taxi driver’s dream

For beating prohibition, lost heaven needs a coalition

You can refuse me any time but you’re in no position

I hope you’re listening, no read between the lines

Heed my unspoken wishes, fish are keen to meet my client

He’ll be feeling fine, he just needs some cleaning time

Look, he’s just deep-sea diving

What the f**k you mean he’s dying?

So tell the boys they’d be well advised in avoiding Illinois

'Cause we’re the type to visit a journalist by whom we’re vilified

Never mind the crime file, ours was a lavish lifestyle

Any violent transaction enacted purely mercantile

Honestly, some of these wiseguys are quite vile, it’s kinda wild

What you can hide behind a nice tie and a polite smile

«You're flesh and blood», says Don Salieri, «My child»

«Until the time we see you through St. Peter’s turnstile»

Your life might need the mafia to take it off of you

Ey, no need to walk away, we brought a car for you

We’re gonna take you for a ride around the block

And if you’re feeling shy, we’ll help you find out how to talk

They’ll need a team of guys to dry you out the dock

They’ll find you drowned with a block tied around your socks

That’s what’ll happen when you’re diving down with sharks

So now your time’s arrived to lie in the ground in a box

Fertilising flowers till we cut 'em by the stalks

Lying in a shallow grave, no rocks to mark the plot

Pause for thought, you wanna talk profit and loss?

Talk to the boss, I ain’t even sure if he works in his office or not

But I certainly never heard of him, officer, I’m at a loss

As to how the perp could have murdered, purloined

And driven off with the profit, it was all part of the plan

We’d park the van behind that dark sedan

The hired hands would wait for our command

And then start to scram

Shift shipments of contraband while listening to Sinatra’s band

If you ain’t in this life don’t even try to understand

You can call our tactics underhanded, I call 'em slick

Like after the lancers game, you just happen to call in sick

We’re all magicians

It’s just how we perform the trick that’s different

I can blow holes through vault walls that are four-inch thick

So of course, we’re mafioso, you darn bozo

No, I don’t think so, I friggin' know so

The whole neighbourhood we control’s a no-go

So if you don’t hope for a bolt cutter to both toes

You better no-show

Make yourself a Joe Schmoe, the folk nobody don’t know

See, this business don’t go for slogans and logos, no

We keep it on the low-low, no fingerprints or photos

Right under your nose

We throw you off the scent when we blow smoke

Quid pro quo, keep your friends and foes both close

Or soon enough you’ll be thinking, «Ey, where’d all the dope go?»

Stole coke by the boatload in packets labelled «cocoa»

Yeah, although we got a sense of humour this is no joke

Let me make a toast though to the

Most ferocious folks you’d hope to know

Cosa nostra, no one’s closer, no one’s supposed to

Now those associates know I broke the code, the oath, omerta

I’ve woken from the dream, the false hope of America