Bloody Brotherhood (orchestral mix)

I spent thirty long years in the shadow of night, Counting blood-money favors that never felt right. Now the suit is pressed clean, and the ledger is clear, Though the footsteps behind me are all that I hear. I'm the fox in the hen house, the ghost in their hall, And I'm taking the names off the velvet-lined wall. So here’s to the brotherhood, bound by the grave, Look at all of the fortunes you tried so to save. You bought half the city, the judge and the street, Now I’m pulling the rug right from under your feet. Oh, it’s solemn, it’s heroic, a noble crusader’s art— Locking up my old friends with a song in my heart. They called it a code, said we’re men of renown, While we bled every alley and strangled the town. Now I sit in the courtroom and point with a smile, Trading decades of darkness for one heavy file. Don't look so surprised, boys, you taught me to cheat, I just learned how to do it with state-funded receipts. So here’s to the brotherhood, bound by the grave, Look at all of the fortunes you tried so to save. You bought half the city, the judge and the street, Now I’m pulling the rug right from under your feet. Oh, it’s solemn, it’s heroic, a noble crusader’s art— Locking up my old friends with a song in my heart. The Don sits in silk while the handcuffs go click, He’s glaring at me like a poorly played trick. He whispers of honor, of omertà’s grace, As the FBI escorts him out of the place. I tell him, "Relax, Boss, the cells are top tier, Consider it retirement—you’ve earned it, my dear." So here’s to the brotherhood, bound by the grave, Look at all of the fortunes you tried so to save. You bought half the city, the judge and the street, Now I’m pulling the rug right from under your feet. Oh, it’s solemn, it’s heroic, a noble crusader’s art— Locking up my old friends with a song in my heart. The syndicate's fallen, the iron bars ring, It’s amazing what happens when bad men start to sing. I walk into twilight under federal guard, A martyr, a traitor, a saint from the yard. My soul might be tarnished, my hands might be stained, But I’m holding the key to the empire you gained. So here’s to the brotherhood, bound by the grave, Look at all of the fortunes you tried so to save. You bought half the city, the judge and the street, Now I’m pulling the rug right from under your feet. Oh, it’s solemn, it’s heroic, a noble crusader’s art— Locking up my old friends with a song in my heart.