[Radio Intro – Deep, Dramatic Voice Over] “It was midnight in Toledo, and the air was thick with the scent of sawdust and trouble. Somewhere beyond the river, a cutter ran aground, spilling more than just seawater. The liquor boys were in town, and the law was one step behind. (Pause) The Remaley Gang made their play, with a torch to the jailhouse and rattler guns displayed, But every road has an end… and some men drive too fast to see the curve.” (Music kicks in: A low, moody saxophone. The bass walks in slow, the snare whispers like a heartbeat in the dark.) [Verse 1] Midnight fog on the Yaquina tide, Bootleg boys with no place to hide. The Sea Island ran aground that night, Left her secrets in the pale moonlight. [Chorus] Oh, the copper’s comin’, don’t make a sound, Stack those cases, get ‘em outta town. Whiskey flows where the river runs, This ain’t a job—it’s Remaley’s run. [Verse 2] Up in Toledo, the jailhouse groaned, As Carrick’s torch cut through the stone. With a rattlin’ gun and a devil’s grin, Remaley’s boys broke the locks again. [Chorus] Oh, the copper’s comin’, don’t make a sound, Stack those cases, get ‘em outta town. Whiskey flows where the river runs, This ain’t a job—it’s Remaley’s run. [Bridge – Tempo slows, piano takes the lead] Down in Depoe, they passed the law, Remaley just grinned, held his last cigar. But Otis was the end of the line, State boys found them under a shadowed pine. [Verse 3 – Tempo picks up, brass punches in] Six-foot staters, cold steel eyes, Snub-nosed .38s held hip-high. “Hands up, boys—end of the ride,” Bootleg dreams end facing a trooper’s star. [Final Chorus] Oh, the copper’s comin’, don’t make a sound, Stack those cases, get ‘em outta town. Whiskey flows where the river runs, This ain’t a job—it’s Remaley’s run. (Sax wails long and lonely, bass thumps out the last beat. A pause. Then—back to the radio.) [RADIO ANNOUNCER] “And so it was, the last great run of the Remaley gang. Some walked free, some did time, but the river never told their secrets. If you wanna see a piece of history, come on down to the Toledo Historical Museum—where one last bottle of that Canadian gold still rests on Main Street. And remember, folks… sometimes history ain’t just in the books. Sometimes, it’s right under your feet.” (Radio fades to static. The night rolls on.)
