Old gangsters never die.
Except the few that pass away in cinemas at midnight, lay lightly there sprawling in the footlights for the usherette or the ice cream girl to find.
And if I die--God knows I might--don't make me die in black and white. Don't make me share a haunted screen with all those other ghostboys who stood tremblin' in the foyer sipping wine, and coughed, shoot their cuffs, checked the time, and stepped outside to get--cut down! By dead policemen faces strobing in the panic-light, their long dark cars parked out the back, their halos black against the night! And John Dillinger's name in the finest bullet silver etched upon their hearts, a cold tattoo upon their skin right next to where the badge is pinned.
And if I die--God knows I might--don't make me die in black and white. Don't make me share a haunted screen with all those other ghostboys who stood tremblin' in the foyer sipping wine, and coughed, shoot their cuffs, checked the time, and stepped outside to get--cut down! By dead policemen faces strobing in the panic-light, their long dark cars parked out the back, their halos black against the night! And John Dillinger's name in the finest bullet silver etched upon their hearts, a cold tattoo upon their skin right next to where the badge is pinned.
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