Oh the year was 1950 and the city life was hard
For a family man with a growing clan working nights in the old shipyard
Til the word came down that Mori was hatching up a plan
For a few nights' time, then the perfect crime, you could be a right wealthy man
Buddy if you think you can.
So we plotted every evening, we practiced every move
We knew our parts and the armored guards and we knew what we had to do
With four men posted sentry, we seven went inside
We did the task, grabbed the bags, left with a million five
Disappearing in the night.
Well the years they passed right quiet-like and no one breathed a sound
`Til one of the lads said the counting's bad to the tune of sixty grand
And he told us he'd be singing if we didn't set things right
So we put out his fire with a gun for hire on a back street one dark night
Left the poor slob to die.
O'Keefe he lay there dying but O'Keefe he didn't die
So he made the sale, told his tale to the cops and the F.B.I.
He ratted on McGinnis he fingered Jazz and Joe
Me and Vince nearly made the slip but we landed with the other boys
Page one of the Boston Globe.
So now I'll die in prison and I'll wonder at the ways
Cruel fate couldn't hesitate, couldn't wait another dozen days
For the six years limitation would have run out in two weeks time
So I gotta believe that there's no such thing on Earth as a perfect crime
But dammit at least we tried.
Oh the year was 1950 I was working at the yard
Guess I should have stayed, should have known my place, no I never should have strayed so far
That night in the Brink's garage.
© 1999 - Robert Adra Huffman
All Rights Reserved