| Workin' out of homicide
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| They told me Joe Vinelli died
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| We’d been a team for seven years
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| His widow wouldn’t waste her tears
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| Who’d done him no one seemed to care
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| 'Cause crooked cops foul up the air
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| But since I worked so long with Joe
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| I felt I had the right to know
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| I found a club in Malibu
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| He’d gone when he felt black and blue
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| Twenty bucks in petty cash
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| The hat-check girl spilled out some trash
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| In a tale I heard a name
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| That rang a gong to save the game
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| A congressman named Thollie Doakes
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| Who had a place in Sherman Oaks
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| Step softly gumshoe, you’re out of your class
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| You’re trailing money therefore then there’s glass in the grass
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| Brass knuckles won’t help when your hands ain’t clean
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| Rubber hoses, broken noses are a trench coat scene
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| And you ain’t dressed for this affair
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| You’re breathing rarified air
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| Up through the luscious estate I wheeled
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| A servant made me show my shield
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| The congressman conversed with me
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| He flashed his smile convincingly
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| He said he’d not a thing to hide
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| Which told me right away he lied
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| 'Cause how could he afford the rent
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| Unless he’s somewhat overspent
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| But down the stairs came Mrs. Doakes
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| The kind that takes off ermine cloaks
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| She’d left her furs upon her bed
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| And slipped on angel lace instead
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| Her husband left to get a drink
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| Her eyes squared up the way I think
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| I figured Doakes had murdered Joe
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| When blackmail for his needing go
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| Brass knuckles copper, you’re falling in love
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| You’re near the rim of hell but you see heaven above
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| Brass knuckes won’t fail you but the light touch will
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| Pistol holder, chip on shoulder with your guts set to spill
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| You think that justice owes you face
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| You brain is loaded with blanks
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| The angel felt heavenly
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| She sank her body into me
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| My double-breasted suit fit fine
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| Her form aligned itself with mine
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| I wonder I’d a natural brain
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| I smelled the truth out clean and plain
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| I’d have to take her husband in that night
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| I hoped he’d come without a fight
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| That when the angel stole my gun
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| And said, «I hate to spoil your fun»
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| Then laughing she explained to me
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| The murderer was none but she
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| A love affair with Joe went tired
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| And six shots into him she fired
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| The congressman a jerk like me
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| Covered up to keep her free
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| So good-bye shameless, I’ll aim for the chest
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| The bullet hole that entered near the top of your vest
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| You lost your heart already so you won’t feel the pain
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| Brass knuckles, brass knuckles and a brass-headed brain
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| Take a breath, prepare to crash
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| You’ll see a bright, blinding flash |