Scrip had brown eyes and stocky build
And he walked with a slouch
Bobby was a known boozer who slept on Scrip's couch
Scrip would always spill the beans
Bobby was smart and would keep his mouth shut
He said Scrip - You talk too loud, and far too much
Scrip didn't heed any warning
He just kept on bookmaking
Cause in his mind it was easy money
And it was his for the taking
He's gone like Jimmy Hoffa
Something doesn't feel right
I guess when you mess with the Canadian mafia
You're playing with your life
J. Edgar's letter sits in the file
Did Bobby flip the script?
Scrip got buried in a concrete slab
Or keelhauled on Maid of the Mist
Despite Bobby's scrambled brain
He always answered the bell
He knew Scrip got a one way ticket straight to hell
Too many rounds, Bob had seen
He knew his brain was still clear
He was the only one on Clifton hill who knew Scrip had disappeared
It was one time he knew his recollection was right
It was two am in the morning
It was three silhouettes digging a hole in the night
It was for a big bag of garbage
He's gone like Jimmy Hoffa
Something definitely wrong
Leads either petered out or came up against brick wall
J.Edgar had no jurisdiction
At 6215 Main
Bobby knows what went down here
Maybe Bobby was insane