I got a ball bat whacked into my eye.
I started to moan; couldn’t stanch a cry.
Just a warning that there could be much more.
I’m black and blue, bandaged, and pretty sore.

Blame it on the Cosa Nostra…doesn’t feel too well.
Useless saying Pater Nosters as it starts to swell.
I sure hope there’s no more than the baseball bat,
such as my being labeled a “rat.”
Lame I’m made by Cosa Nostra,
a gang of thugs.

There’s impending doom—
uh-oh, the Cosa Nostra,
harmful gang of thugs—
yeah, that’s the Cosa Nostra.
They send out their goons—
yeah, that’s the Cosa Nostra,
a klatch of thugs.

So I’ve learned to pay, when they’re telling me,
fast, with no delay. They’re “family.”
And if I should think that there’s any doubt
about their will, the hard way I’ll find out.

Game I play’s the Cosa Nostra’s…don’t protest or yell.
Waste no time with Pater Nosters, because I’m in hell.
I sure hope there’s no more than the baseball bat,
such as a sharp shiv or cap from a gat.
Payment to the Cosa Nostra:
my bank to thugs.

There’s impending doom—
uh-oh, the Cosa Nostra,
an armed gang of thugs—
yeah, that’s the Cosa Nostra.
Geeks among the goons
within the Cosa Nostra—
my pad they’ve bugged.