| The damp air carried the smell of musty cotton
|
| And burning sugar
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| The red moon over the brackish dark water
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| Whispered danger
|
| Oh, in bocca al lupo
|
| Oh, crepi il lupo
|
| La Merica won't you please, please won't you be
|
| A place that loves music and the man that made me
|
| These docks are a war zone, such ferocity
|
| I wonder if we should have left dear Sicily
|
| I am steel reeds, gaskets and kidskin gusset
|
| I'm gleaming green
|
| Set in Circassian walnut
|
| He crafted me with love
|
| And I am his best shot
|
| At getting out of the shipyards
|
| And starting his music shop
|
| Oh, in bocca al lupo
|
| Oh, crepi il lupo
|
| His eyes grew nervous, his touch grew rough
|
| I think it troubled him that no one liked our melodies much
|
| The French swore for waltzes, the Irish jigs and reels
|
| A choppy sort of fusion was demanded by the Creoles
|
| He was such a brave man with eyes of amber
|
| Thick black hair and a barrel chested swagger
|
| But sfortunato was his hand
|
| Even the best accordion can't save an unlucky man
|
| La Merica won't you please, please won't you be
|
| A place that loves music and the man that made me
|
| These docks are a war zone, such ferocity
|
| I wish that we had never left dear Sicily
|
| Have you ever had to say goodbye from a distance
|
| Knowing it was forever in one sharp instant
|
| I slid out of his arms and crashed to the floor
|
| As the cops burst through the party
|
| And tore the men through the back door
|
| Three hundred Italians were rounded up that day
|
| As an officer was shot and an accusation was made
|
| Some were tried, then acquitted
|
| But a mob still insisted it was them that did it
|
| They broke into the prison shouting "someone will pay!"
|
| My sweet maker was among the innocent lynched that day
|
| Oh, in bocca al lupo
|
| Oh, crepi il lupo
|
| La Merica won't you please, please won't you be
|
| A place that loves music and the man that made me
|
| These docks are a war zone, such ferocity
|
| I wish that we had never left dear Sicily
|
| La Merica won't you please, please won't you be
|
| A place that loves music and the man that made me
|
| These docks are a war zone, such ferocity
|
| Crepi il lupo |