Frank “Flat Top” Stein
Somewhere between midnight and morning
lurks a looming, lumbering giant.
Following a noise that cannot escape,
to the sound, he creeps, so reliant.
Searching the night for the music he hears,
he won’t stop ’till he puts it to rest.
Pounding the things that gets in his way,
not level-headed, and far too obsessed.
The musical murderer has arrived.
Yes! Yes! It’s alive!
Is he a man or is he monster?
He has hardly a brain in that head.
But one thing’s for sure, he’s an angry one,
watch out, or soon you’ll be dead.
Don’t sing, and certainly don’t hum
hide, run for cover, quick get in.
One thing’s for sure, don’t sit by the well,
and never, play violin.
The musical murderer has arrived.
Yes! Yes! It’s alive!
The rumor ’bout him is quite grimm.
They say that a mad man built him,
from bits and parts that they stole from the morgue.
Put in a brain, and stitched on his limbs.
No matter the story, just beware.
His face is all over the news.
If you see him, report him, and try to thwart him,
his sanity’s only held on by screws.
The musical murderer has arrived.
Yes! Yes! It’s alive!
The Daily Mobster 