| Lyrics |
Franky was a mook from the block we used to live on
The wanna be gangster;
The wanna be dapper Don, Don John onthe wall, I'm your biggest fannext to my little brother Paul.
Losing his grip, like Pesci, he'd flipif you talk to his brother he says theyalways planned this triphe wasn't oky-dokie running around like
Don Quixote, trying to free a man hedidn't even know B.
He had the roots he bought the suitsbut the boys didn't like him mto tell you the truthhe had "J.G." on his pinky ring and helied about doin' some time up in sing-singhe flipped one fine summer afternoonhe 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 clubtwo sticks of dynamite and a .38 Snubhe tried to see the Don, without an invitationstood outside the gate with his three man demonstartionwaving 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 actingthorough; they raided Franky's roomand then they saw his bureau; upon it was a note,with a rhyme that was dope, abouthow 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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