Franky was a mook from the block we used to live on
The wannabe the gangster
The wannabe the dapper Don
Don John on the wall, I said now I'm your biggest fan
Next to my little brother Paul.
He's losing his grip, then like Pesci, he'd flip
If you talk to his brother he says they
Always planned this trip
He wasn't oky-dokie running around like Don Quixote, Tryin' to free a man he, he didn't even know,
He had the roots he bought the suits
But the boys didn't like him to tell you the truth
He had "J.G." on his pinky ring and he
Lied about doin' some time up in sing-sing
He flipped one fine summer afternoon
He told his brother Paulie, something had to be done soon.
He took Paulie and a couple of boys
and jacked the Coup de Ville to Illinois.
La-di da-di, free John Gotti, "The King of New York"
He got a clipper from a stripper, he met at a club
Two sticks of dynamite and a.38 Snub
He went to see the Don, without an invitation
Stood outside the gate with his three man demonstration
Waving picket signs, the C.O. saw a nine;
And only Paulie go away with the skin on his behind.
Back in the borough the cops are acting
Thorough; they raided Franky's room
That's when they saw his bureau; upon it was a note,
With a rhyme that was dope, about
How he was breaking John out and how he couldn't cope.
It sait, "I don't fly coach, never save the roach,
The King of New York".
La-di da-di, free John Gotti, "The King of New York"
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