Sing, muse, of the passion of the pistol
Sing, muse, of the warning by the whistle
On a night so dark in the waning
dawn obscured by slate sky raining

Five and twenty burglars by the reservoir
teenage lookout on the signal tower
The mogul's daughter in hogtie
The mogul fingers the wrong guy, all lies

It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime

The bagman's quaking at the fingers
The hand-off glance a little lingers
well-dressed man in the crosshairs
shot rings out from somewhere upstairs

It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the
perfect crime
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the
perfect crime

It was the perfect crime

It was like a ticker-tape parade
When the plastique on the safe was blown away
And we all gazed from eye to eye
As we mouthed our silent goodbyes

The valley's sleeping like a [bad word] 
It stinks of slumber and disaster
Two words are spoken on the tap wire
The agent's ploy finds a surefire backfire

It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the
perfect crime
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime