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‎⁨ارشيف عراقي | قبل يومين | تعديل مميز

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Latin Cuban feel 
Lyrics concept by Sas 

[Intro]

It was opening ,
Night, 
November the Tenth , 
Nineteen forty . 
The atmosphere,
Was electric, 
But tension was, 
In the air. 

We walk in the, 
Club, 

The Copacabana
club

With my best, 
Man, 
Eyes fixated on us. 

the pretty ,
Chicas,
All got up,
Together.
One table, then,
Another.
( mmm ) ,
In their sexy ,
dresses.
Their Hair, 
Lips full ,
Earrings glittering ,
Expensive jewellery,
To match. 
With, 
Smiles on their ,
Faces,
Lust in their eyes. 

Oh, my, 
The beautiful, 
Brazilian decor, 
The orchestra,
Playing Latin music. 
The food, 
Fine Chinese food. 
No,
Expense spared here. 

You could see, 
Gangsters ,
With their drawn
Out faces.
Not very happy,
Whispering,
Loud chatter, 
Looking ,
At us. 

Us, in Our suits, 
Immaculate,
Me in black ,
My best man, 
All in white. 
Shoes shining.
They had ,
Just been polished ,
Before , we ,
Entered the club. 

Frank Costello,
The Mob ,
Boss ,
Comes walking, 
Towards us, 
Cigar in ,
One hand, 
An Outstretched arm, 
With the other. 
Greets us,
And with a click of his fingers
( twice ) 
Waiters, and, 
hostesses ( so stunning ) ,
Take us to our table ,
Right up the front. 

With Franky
Baby. 

It was opening ,
Night, 
November the Tenth , 
Nineteen forty . 
The atmosphere,
Was electric, 
But tension was, 
In the air. 

My best man, 
An African man, 
Me an Italian man. 

You could smell,
The racism in the air, 
The odour, 
The stench.
It was Ready to erupt, 
And it wasn’t too long,
Before, 
our wish to settle ,
Some scores, ( old scores ) .

It Was about, 
 to get real here. 

The whites got up, 
My best man and 
Me, 
Got up too.
Our Hands moved ,
down, 
To our sides. 
Our guns, 
( click, clack ). 
Each man followed ,
Gangsters, 
( all ready ).

Frank got up from his,
Table near us, 
He had been talking, 
To some ladies,
When the, 
Police burst through,
The doors. 

Everyone,
just looked at each other
No one willing to
Make the first move. 

It was opening ,
Night, 
November the Tenth , 
Nineteen forty . 
The atmosphere,
Was electric, 
But tension was, 
In the air. 

You could smell,
The racism in the air, 
The odour, 
The stench.
It was Ready to erupt, 
And it wasn’t too long,
Before, 
our wish to settle ,
Some scores, ( old scores ) .

[Outro]

With a wink 
And smile ,
to the mobsters, 

We said ,
“To be continued”.
Some ,

Another time.

gangster-style ( A 1940’s soft Latin Cuban feel)

Puras Tonterias

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