V. 1: T'was a Bay City mother, loved her son like no other,
Well, she only wished for him the best success.
Taught him how to be cunning, but he went bad and started gunning
And before he finished, he had made a mess.
V. 2: Robbin' banks & shootin' cops, in the crime world he was tops,
Made his money if a criminal way.
At casinos, fixin' euchre, all his cash was filthy lucre,
If you asked him 'bout it, this is what he'd say:
Chorus 1: I'm a mean S.O.B., never saw the likes of me.
Put your hands in the air, get 'em high!
With my Tommy gun so neat, and escape car in the street,
Hand your wallet o'er to me and say bye-bye!
V. 3: I.R.S. gave him some grief, they suspected him a thief,
Told him soon enough that they would have to audit.
So he traded cash for gold, stuck it 'neath his bed to hold,
Told the government he lost it, and they bought it.
V. 4: 'Cause the gold, it brought him laughter, tried to take it to Hereafter.
Told gravedigger, put it in his casket box.
But the gold, it was a curse, overloaded our old hearse,
So we snitched the gold, and now our world it rocks.
Chorus 2: Now that mean old gangster, well he thought he was a prankster,
But thugs at his funeral said they'd grab his sh*t.
Drove the hearse, we didn't know, what the fuss was 'bout and so,
When the fight broke out, decided we would split!
Bridge: And the trip to the guy's graveside made me shiver,
When we drove the bridge across the Saginaw River.
All the thugs were chasing us, and the drawbridge going up...
We were gonna have to jump it or go bust.
V. 5: Made the leap in record time, left the gangsters far behind,
but our landing, well it kinda wrecked the Caddy.
Stopped a farmer with a truck, asked him, "Wanna make a buck?"
Helped us grab the gold, now we're all Sugar Daddies!
Chorus 3: So if your gold is piled high, can't take it with you to The Sky.
There's a better way to use it, don't you see?
And a cold, dead thug, with a smug lookin' mug, Well, he left it all to me!
by *Stu Brandymore & *Jerry Klumski *(a.k.a. Ted Montei)
YOU ARE READING
Epilogue: Requiem For Peter Giordano
PoetryImagine if you will, a scene down in Mexico, perhaps Acapulco. Two wealthy, young American boys are sitting around a campfire, sipping fine brandy, and handsomely tipping young Mexican girls on bicycles who bring them burritos and tamales. As they...
