A metal shark cuts into the night,
spilling the colors of the neon lights.
Papo, the hitman, is driving with his crew,
the Pérez boys. All born and raised in Barrio truth.
They’re looking for a man
named “Sweet Tyrone.”
In better days he was a friend
but is no more.
He broke the main rule that controls the street:
don’t double-cross the ones you love, the ones you need.
Chorus:
Don’t double-cross the ones you love.
Don’t double-cross the ones you need.
‘Cause you never know. ‘Cause no one can say when
you’ll need a friend out on the street.
Don’t double-cross.
The metal shark parked across a downtown bar.
The barrio boys slid off the car.
The sawed-off shotguns pressed against their legs.
They’re wearing raincoats and a dead-end face.
Inside the bar, the jukebox played a song about a woman
and a long lost love.
It’s Friday night. The crowd is loose and loud.
It smells of piss, of beer and working clothes.
The boys went in behind the colors.
Chorus
“Sweet Tyrone” was on a corner, drinking rum and cokes,
holding a young girl he thought he owned.
When he saw the homeboys coming, he turned and
backed against the wall.
The girl broke off his last embrace and ran.
And before Tyrone could draw his gun,
two shotgun blasts ended his evening’s fun.
In the bar, nobody turned around.
This part of town won’t stand for clowns.
The barrio boys slowly walked and left the bar.
They slapped some high fives and got inside the car.
The girl came out, and Papo paid her as agreed.
Into the night, they disappeared.
The street had spoken.
Chorus
~~~~
‘Barrio Boys’ – 8/28/1985 on Late Night,
early version of “The Hit” Escuchar audio
clip
A metal shark is coursing through the night.
A beat-up black sedan with its headlights dark.
Papo the Puerto Rican’s driving with his crew.
The rebel guys, the uptown boys, the macho cool.
They’re looking for a guy whose name is Tyrone Shore.
He used to be their friend but is no more.
He broke the oldest rule that controls the street.
You don’t do wrong to those you need.
Oh-oh
Oh-oh
The black sedan pulled next a run-down bar.
From its window hung a lite beer neon sign.
Donna the working woman leans against the wall.
Her dress said ‘YES’ her eyes said ‘NO.’
Two of the barrio boys got off the car.
They dressed in overcoats and looked real sharp.
Two sawed-off shotguns pressed against their legs.
They’re young and trim and poker-faced.
Inside the bar the juke box played a song
about betrayal and a long-lost love.
My man Tyrone pressed against the wall
a young Delilah he thought he owned.
Oh-oh
Oh-oh
The barrio boys gave him some seconds more.
And then they called his name, “Yo! Tyrone Shore!”
He turned around, a smile still clinging to his face.
The girl broke off his last embrace and ran.
Just before he could pull out his gun.
Two shotgun blasts ended his evening fun.
Inside the bar nobody turned around.
“It’s not my job,” “It’s not me war.”
The barrio boys slowly walked out the bar.
They gave each other five and got in Papo’s car.
Donna the working woman saw them leave.
The metal shark back in the street.
You don’t do wrong to those you need – Oh!
You never cross the ones you need – Oh!
Oh-oh
Oh-oh
Ah ah ah ah, Oh-oh
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