Sing, muse, of the passion of the pistol Sing, muse, of the warning by the whistle On a night so dark in the waning A dawn obscured by slight sky raining
Five and twenty burglars by the reservoir A teenage lookout on the signal tower The mogul's daughter in hogtie The mogul fingers the wrong guy, all lies
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime
The bagman's quaking at the fingers The hand-off glance a little lingers A well-dressed man in the crosshairs A shot rings out from somewhere upstairs
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime
It was the perfect crime
It was like a ticker-tape parade When the plastique on the safe was blown away And we all gazed from eye to eye As we mouthed our silent goodbyes
The valley's sleeping like a bastard It stinks of slumber and disaster Two words are spoken on the tap wire The agent's ploy finds a surefire backfire
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime
Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
