| My fedora’s full of rain
|
| I resemble Sam Spade
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| Even though I try in vain
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| This city can’t be saved
|
| Reminiscing of a Roosevelt
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| Policing the police
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| When I’m not keeping the peace
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| I’m misplacing my niece
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| I got glasses, a mustache
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| Stains of coffee and tobacco
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| First pass the cigarettes
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| Call for back up when I hack up
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| My steady stream of coffee
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| Could you keep me cafeinated?
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| The weather’s such a pleasure
|
| Always raining and I hate it
|
| Special Forces veteran
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| More tools and zone than Zepplin
|
| Came back to Chicago
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| Sweet home needed some defended
|
| But they say there’s bad behavior
|
| Had me gruff by stranger danger
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| Took a dirty lot
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| A dirty cop
|
| Should a stopped him
|
| Later
|
| See Chicago has a history of oafish officials
|
| They goldfish
|
| And they know this
|
| While I get a dismissal
|
| Gotham’s looking awesome
|
| It can’t possibly be corrupt
|
| Then I show up
|
| And I grow up
|
| Cuz I know that I am fucked
|
| What
|
| My name is Gordon
|
| Can’t afford it
|
| Put your hands in the sky
|
| I don’t rough 'em
|
| I just cuff 'em
|
| I ain’t bluffin'
|
| No lie
|
| Call me McGruff
|
| Can’t get enough
|
| All this stuff you call crime
|
| It’s pretty shitty
|
| I’ll admit it
|
| But this city’s all mine
|
| My name is Gordon
|
| Can’t afford it
|
| Put your hands in the sky
|
| I don’t rough 'em
|
| I just cuff 'em
|
| I ain’t bluffin'
|
| No lie
|
| Call me McGruff
|
| Can’t get enough
|
| All this stuff you call crime
|
| It’s pretty shitty
|
| I’ll admit it
|
| But this city’s all mine
|
| Picked on in a parking garage
|
| Ambushed by a bunch of thugs
|
| Skull and ski-mask baseball bats
|
| Followed by a lunch of drugs
|
| Threats against my wife and kids
|
| Safe at home asleep and snug
|
| Broken glasses
|
| Broken ribs
|
| Don’t mean Jim won’t fuck you up
|
| Runnin on the road
|
| Don’t liken the cold
|
| I’m pissed
|
| No doubt about it
|
| We drop our guns
|
| I throw mine back
|
| It’s an unfair fight without it
|
| He gets the bearings
|
| I crush the larynx
|
| Now he ain’t fairing so good
|
| I strip and cuff
|
| And leave him enough
|
| By the side of the road in the woods
|
| He keeps depressin' on guessin'
|
| Cuz I start messin' with essin
|
| I had a wife and a family
|
| Now I’m composing confession
|
| She’s coming at me with questions
|
| A lot of pent up aggressions
|
| She starts a quick packing session
|
| She leaves no message, I’m stressing
|
| Better get better instead
|
| Better yet bottle some friends
|
| Needs hit the poor
|
| Cuz the damn divorce
|
| Has oddly throttled my threads
|
| At the end of my rope
|
| I quiver and cope
|
| All alone by the phone in my bed
|
| I go for a glimmer of hope
|
| Get nothing but ghosts
|
| Til a coast in the den
|
| My name is Gordon
|
| Can’t afford it
|
| Put your hands in the sky
|
| I don’t rough 'em
|
| I just cuff 'em
|
| I ain’t bluffin'
|
| No lie
|
| Call me McGruff
|
| Can’t get enough
|
| All this stuff you call crime
|
| It’s pretty shitty
|
| I’ll admit it
|
| But this city’s all mine
|
| My name is Gordon
|
| Can’t afford it
|
| Put your hands in the sky
|
| I don’t rough 'em
|
| I just cuff 'em
|
| I ain’t bluffin'
|
| No lie
|
| Call me McGruff
|
| Can’t get enough
|
| All this stuff you call crime
|
| It’s pretty shitty
|
| I’ll admit it
|
| But this city’s all mine
|
| I’m commended
|
| I’m commissioner
|
| Throw my prisoners
|
| Up in Blackgate
|
| I’m assisted
|
| By the prisoner
|
| Who insists upon visiting mad lace
|
| So I’m often working overtime
|
| Clenching over casefiles
|
| I leave the window open
|
| Hoping
|
| He arrives
|
| And my face smiles
|
| Always on my side
|
| Can’t be controlled by the mob
|
| I know he’s on the case
|
| And won’t beat off til it’s solved
|
| I have an instinct
|
| Bugs are listening
|
| Let’s move this thing
|
| To the roof
|
| I installed a signal
|
| For when I need you
|
| If you needed the proof
|
| The common criminal is evolved
|
| Into a costume and codename
|
| I gather in groves
|
| They’re killing 'em
|
| It goes both ways
|
| You got access to weaponry
|
| But your enemies gonna top it
|
| These 'splosions are enormous
|
| And the body count’s catastrophic
|
| They all know I’m your accomplice
|
| Soon to be coming after me
|
| They’re gonna hold me hostage
|
| Or hurt Barbara
|
| Wait and see
|
| His name’s Joker
|
| He’s an owner of a carnival on the outskirts
|
| Stockpile a toxin
|
| That’s a foxin
|
| Before we have ourselves an outburst
|
| My name is Gordon
|
| Can’t afford it
|
| Put your hands in the sky
|
| I don’t rough 'em
|
| I just cuff 'em
|
| I ain’t bluffin'
|
| No lie
|
| Call me McGruff
|
| Can’t get enough
|
| All this stuff you call crime
|
| It’s pretty shitty
|
| I’ll admit it
|
| But this city’s all mine |