[Alex:]
Under dark, waning moons
Fog creeps in, the stench of booze
Cigars, cards, opium, and sex still linger on
Desperate men scurry home
To madly scrub and rinse their clothes
But my friends, the crimson mark does not come off

In the height of the night
Scrambling men sweating fright
Try to outrun consequences that await
But my friends take my word
Disrespect will quick incur
Hellhounds on your heels, the mark of Cain

There are all shades of crime
Our fingers reach in every pie
Our syndicatе is run by a ruthless red-haired linе
Yes, my brother ruled the roust
But he was put down by the Mouse
And the ruby pocket handkerchief's now mine

There is much to be done
There are men who must run
There are sad, sweet songs of pleading to be sung
Yes, there's sangre to be spilt
Mother's wails, caskets filled
A business built on bootleg Dolls to run
There's not much left
I'm sorry, oh my darling
But there's not much left, oh Lord knows here of me

There's not much left
A mattress on an empty bed
And there's not much left, oh Lord knows, now of me

If it's bootleg Dolls you want
Someone you hate? Bring them back up
Sit around and drink and throw darts in their eye
Come around then, we don't judge
Pay on time or your time comes
You've a need and we've a pipeline of supply

Under dark, waning moons
Some will run, pray, or screw
Business my friends, does not run itself
Yes, it's fear rules the nest
Be seen weak and lose your head
And you're the next dear Dolly on the shelf