Interview

So you say that it wasn’t your boy’s old son,
You weren’t there when the offie got done,
And you’re sayin’ it isn’t your style old son,
But you know that the bookies got spun.

What if I tell you you’re lyin’ old son,
And I know it was you that broke in.
Your continual silence is tryin’ old son,
And my patience is now wearing thin,

You know that estate is my manor old son,
But you still had to tread on my toes,
This time I’m sending you down old son,
It’s my job son, that’s just how it goes.

Make it easy and gimme some names old son,
Was it your boys that broke through the roof?
It won’t be myself who’s to blame old son,
If I have to beat out the truth.

Big Stan and Mad Mickey you’re sayin’ old son,
What’s that, you can’t take any more,
See sometimes the truth really hurts old son,
P.C. Wood, help this man off the floor.

©RS2011