Rossi the hitman,
Was a guy who was un-souled.
Was a born mob type who is snuffin' foes
Just like ice he was that cold.

Rossi the hitman,
Used his killin' craft to slay.
He would snuff wiseguys, just adored demise
As he ended lives each day.

There must have been some manic in
That old ilk cat abound.
A price gets placed upon a head,
Might get lost and never found.

So frosty's this hitman,
None survived as he coldly
Bid his killin' ways,
He could stab or flay,
Or use flame, you're history.

Rossi the hitman,
Used a gun and shot at prey.
But the lead got spun,
Shot dead this nun.
Never 'fore he dealt non-lay.

He now had some spillage,
Hit a nun chick quite unplanned.
Gunning here; went there,
Plus he missed his "fare" Slaying
Botched this job hit man.

He fled on down to nearby town,
To shake off any cop.
He had no cause hit convent hen,
A habit he must stop.

Now, Rossi the hitman,
Had to bury this some way.
Gave another try slaying
The right guy,
"Ids jus' bidness wud I say."

Pumpety pump pump!
Pumpety pump pump!

Shoot that nasty ho.

Pumpety pump pump!
Pumpety pump pump!

Un-der world kills their foe.