Steve Goodman Banana Republics
Down to the banana republics,
Down to the tropical sun,
Come the expatriated Americans
Hoping to have some fun.
Some of them come for the sailing,
Called by the lure of the sea,
Trying to cure what is ailing
From living in the land of the free.
Some of them them running from lovers,
Leaving no forward address.
Some of them are running marijuana,
Some are running from the IRS.
Late at night you can find them
In the cheap hotels and bars
Hustling the senoritas while they dance beneath the
stars.
Spending their renegade pesos
On a bottle of rum and a lime,
Singing "Give me some words we can dance to,
Or a melody that rhymes."
First you learn the native customs
Then a word of Spanish or two.
You know that you cannot trust them
Because they know they can't trust you.
Expatriated Americans
Feeling so all alone,
Telling themselves the same lies
That they told themselves at home.
Late at night you can find them
In the cheap hotels and bars
Hustling the senoritas while they dance beneath the
stars.
Spending their renegade pesos
On a bottle of rum and a lime,
Singing "Give me some words we can dance to,
Or a melody that rhymes."
Down in the banana republics
Things aren't as bright as they seem.
None of the natives are buying
Any second-hand American dreams
