Hotline Miami - Tryhardninja, Dan Bull, Sparkles*

Hi kids, do you like violence?

Seeing people dying 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

Miami 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 on 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 d’you reckon that your hands’ll be clean, it says:

It’s dirty work, but someone’s got to 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

Wo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

These hot Miami nights

Wo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

'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 hang up 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 handed 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 catastrophe 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 d’you reckon that your hands’ll be clean, it says:

It’s dirty work, but someone’s got to 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

Wo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

These hot Miami nights

Wo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

'Cause greed turns into pain and no one can escape

The crimson rain that pours over my soul

On these hot Miami nights