King Of New York

Franky was a mook from the block we used to live on The wanna be gangster;
The wanna be dapper Don, Don John on the wall, I’m your biggest fan
next to my little brother Paul.
Losing his grip, like Pesci, he’d flip
if you talk to his brother he says they
always planned this trip
he wasn’t oky-dokie running around like
Don Quixote, trying to free a man he didn’t even know B.
He had the roots he bought the suits
but the boys didn’t like him mto tell you the truth
he had J.G. on his pinky ring and he lied about doin’some time up in sing-sing
he flipped one fine summer afternoon
he told his brother Paulie, something had to be done soon.
He took Paulie and a couple of boys and jacked the
Coup de Ville to Illinois.
La-di da-di, free John Gotti, The King of New York
He got a clipper from a stripper, he met at a club
two sticks of dynamite and a .38 Snub
he tried to see the Don, without an invitation
stood outside the gate with his three man demonstartion
waving picket signs, the C.O. saw a nine;
and only Paulie go away with the skin on his behind.
Back in the borough the cops are acting
thorough; they raided Franky’s room
and then they saw his bureau; upon it was a note,
with a rhyme that was dope, about
how he was breaking John out and how he couldn’t cope.
It sait, I don’t fly coach, never save the roach,
The King of New York.
La-di da-di, free John Gotti, The King of New York