Bugs Moran
As the cold and wet Chicago night
Was a'hiding from the law
And every cop that turned his head
Forgot the sights he saw
The Buick splashed the sidewalk
With more menace than before...
It was Valentine's Day, '29
In Chicago, Illinois
Capone spoke soft and quiet
To the South Side Italian boys
"Go take a ride down North Clark
And make us a little noise."
And they are coming...
The Buick and the Cadillac
And the beat-up black sedan
Whispering on a deserted street
Of whisky stills and of cold concrete
And it goes unsaid
Of the shower of lead
For Bugs Moran
With the brims of their felt hats turned down
And their collars to the rain
The knife that took the lookout's life
As through the gates they came
And still the whisky bubbles
From adulterated grain...
How many men will lie down
With their faces in the mud?
How many men will turn and fight
As if they really could?
How many men will see the rain
Mix the whisky with the blood?
And they are coming...
The Buick and the Cadillac
And the beat-up black sedan
Whispering on a deserted street
Of whisky stills and of cold concrete
And it goes unsaid
Of the shower of lead
For Bugs Moran
And the irony was Bugs himself
Avoiding all this heat
There in Krauss's coffee house
And trying to stay discreet
Watching as the Massacre
Took place across the street
And they are coming...
The Buick and the Cadillac
And the beat-up black sedan
Whispering on a deserted street
Of whisky stills and of cold concrete
But the one who'd fled
Who wasn't dead...
Was Bugs Moran
Was a'hiding from the law
And every cop that turned his head
Forgot the sights he saw
The Buick splashed the sidewalk
With more menace than before...
It was Valentine's Day, '29
In Chicago, Illinois
Capone spoke soft and quiet
To the South Side Italian boys
"Go take a ride down North Clark
And make us a little noise."
And they are coming...
The Buick and the Cadillac
And the beat-up black sedan
Whispering on a deserted street
Of whisky stills and of cold concrete
And it goes unsaid
Of the shower of lead
For Bugs Moran
With the brims of their felt hats turned down
And their collars to the rain
The knife that took the lookout's life
As through the gates they came
And still the whisky bubbles
From adulterated grain...
How many men will lie down
With their faces in the mud?
How many men will turn and fight
As if they really could?
How many men will see the rain
Mix the whisky with the blood?
And they are coming...
The Buick and the Cadillac
And the beat-up black sedan
Whispering on a deserted street
Of whisky stills and of cold concrete
And it goes unsaid
Of the shower of lead
For Bugs Moran
And the irony was Bugs himself
Avoiding all this heat
There in Krauss's coffee house
And trying to stay discreet
Watching as the Massacre
Took place across the street
And they are coming...
The Buick and the Cadillac
And the beat-up black sedan
Whispering on a deserted street
Of whisky stills and of cold concrete
But the one who'd fled
Who wasn't dead...
Was Bugs Moran
Credits
Writer(s): Christopher John Trevor Midgley
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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