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On the night before my twenty-first birthday
November in Paris, in nineteen sixty-three
In a little hotel off the Boulevard Michelle
Near the Roman ruins at St Germaine Des Pres
Came a knock on the door, said the word was on the wire
They wounded your president when he drove into the crossfire
He was hurt real bad and he may not make it through the night
There were two men in the building, two more in the bushes on the right
They say that Bobby was the problem, he was comin' down too hard
On Hoffa and Marcello, Traficante and Giancana.
They were angry with the president. They were taking him out.
He was breaking his promise to get the boys back into Havana
New Orleans and Chicago brought the battle down to Dallas
They took the Teamster's pension fund, they built the Caesar's Palace
They had a good thing going and they weren't gonna let it go without a fight
There were two men in the building, two more in the bushes on the right
By the time he was of age, my dad was flyin' transports
Into Pelelu and Kwajalein in the great Pacific conflict
Navigating in the dark, five thousand miles of ocean, by stars I still haven't seen
He's been a judge and a sailor, a skier and a piano player,
Everything that a young man could ever want to be
He's heard the wisdom and the lies and everything in between
And for the longest time, not a word would pass between us
Experience and innocence impatient with each other
Two generations waiting, waiting for the heat to turn to light
And a long time to come before I could lay me down at night
Without the two men in the building, two more in the bushes on the right
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