Hi kids,
Do you like violence?
Seeing people die to the cries of the sirens?
Leaving the crime scene nothing like you arrived,
Full of bile, blood,
And another bunch of satisfied clients?
Well then you dialed the right hotline,
Miama has a lot of numbers
And of all of them you got mine
My top advice is not to get bothered with plot line
Just call us up, and then I'll see if I can drop by
It all started with a call to East Seventh Street
I was blessed with a request that didn't need any pleasantries
There's no intense a feeling as dealing senseless
beatings to people who you previously wouldn't ever meet
Talk about being dead on your feet
The second that I enter people seem to end in a heap
I guess they can't deal well with the American heat
That makes you sweat red and then puts you forever to sleep
I guess I'm one heck of an interior decorator
Interfere with investigators, escalate a petty situation into mayhem
Exit stage left and step in the accelerator
The rest is even better but I'd better tell you later
Because I've got another message and it won't wait
Someone needs me to clean their mess up in my own way
No fidgeting or messing and there's no delay
Fifty blessings later hit the motorway and rode away
There's one new message on your answer machine
It says:
How long do you reckon that your hands'll be clean
It says:
It's dirty work
But someone's gotta do the job
To go beserk
And roll in the filth with the mob
Under neon lights
One phone call will decide who lives or dies
'Cause greed turns into pain
And no one can escape
The crimson rain that pours over my soul
On these Hot Miami Nights
These Hot Miami Nights
'Cause greed turns into pain
And no one can escape
The crimson rain that pours over my soul
On these Hot Miami Nights
Strip lights flicker
As I sip my liquor
This life's sick and you can get by quicker
If you live like a sinner
With your finger by the trigger
Or the throat of a foe
So it's goodbye Richter
Wherever I go I seem to stand alone
Whether I head to the pizza shack
Or hang at home
Answer to no one but the answer phone
Man I love that hangup tone
More than a saxophone solo and a bag of blow
I'm holding a bat
And donning an animal mask
So you can probably tell I've had a problematical past
But these aren't irrational acts
I'm enacting the task
That I've been handled by the man requiring absolute tact
And as a matter of fact
I'm really flattered he asked me
Because I'm a one man catastrophy factory
Think the mafia's bad?
You must be having a laugh, see
The man behind each massive massacre?
That's me
There's one new message on your answer machine
It says:
How long do you reckon your hands'll be clean
It says:
It's dirty work
But someone's gotta do the job
To go beserk
And roll in the filth with the mob
Under neon lights
One phone call will decide who lives or dies
'Cause greed turns into pain
And no one can escape
The crimson rain that pours over my soul
On these Hot Miami Nights
These Hot Miami Nights
'Cause greed turns into pain
And no one can escape
The crimson rain that pours over my soul
On these Hot Miami Nights
DAN BULL
DOUGLBY
Hello! It's Dan Bull!
That was a super 80's video! Uh, I'm from the 80's,
so I'm allowed to do that into my culture. Um,
but don't copy any of the violent things you saw in that video,
don't hit people with stuff, 'cause it hurts. Uh,
I'd also like to say thank you to Tryhardninja and Sparkles* for
their awesome contributions to the chorus,
which I wouldn't be able to sing, because it's too high.
You can hear more of their music, and their voices, on the music,
on their channels, so click the things for that. Oh,
this is on Spotify as well,
like all my other music. This video is sponsored by nobody.
