Mik-Italian Mob

Shamrocks, shenanigans and Italians Out to make millions and trillions East Coast Injuns With South Side Irishmen Controlling all the synonyms And bringing’em A rhyme flow opinion Dominion Take your wife and your kinion You’ll get chopped like logs Fed to the hogs Don’t mess with the boss The Mik-Italian Mob You better get ready For potatoes and spaghetti Lasagna, fettuccini, linguini and alphagetties! Green beer, greasy hair And cologne that you can smell from Gesgapegiag to Kahnawake! And in South Boston, you can Jump Around To the House of Pain sound Get green beer in town At any Irish Pub lounge And if you get caught in little Italy You better know at least one guy named Vinny His Uncle Jimmy Godfather Mario or something that sounds like Gambini! Stay the f*ck outta their butcher shops! That’s where the wise-guys get the bodies chopped The guys who got shot Snitched, lied or talked to cops! And if you don’t wanna listen To the advice I’m given You’ll get chalked up on the ground, not forgiven So, stay outta the kitchen! You’ll get chopped like logs Fed to the hogs Don’t mess with the Boss The Mik-Italian Mob “Hey Quent, how can that be though… I thought you were Micmac”? I am yo! I’m a mixed-blood, Irish-devil seed Known as the worst breed To ever be involved in this activity! Even the Irish don’t really trust me And I’m their fucking family!! But I’ve already proven my loyalty By respecting the Royalty And I’m relevant in the Rez and in the City I’m gritty, don’t pity, fools acting shitty F*ck around and I’ll get my friend Denis And my Nephew Geoffrey To turn you outty-inny Cops catch on, we cross the border quickly Chill on the Reservation with my Uncle Harry! When the dust settles, we’ll be back in business They can’t press charges without a witness My buddy drinks wine instead of Guinness We’re still having fun so, that don’t make no difference! Peitrantonio, Geoffriano, my bros, the pasta eatin’ Italianos, Slainta!