|
| |
Lyrics of some favorites
|
As the son of a son of a sailor,
I went out on the sea for adventure,
Expanding ther view of the captain and crew
Like a man just released from indenture.
As a dreamer of dreams and a travelin' man,
I have chalked up many a mile.
Read dozens of books about heroes and crooks,
And I've learned much from both of their styles.
Son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor.
Son of a gun; load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer.
Now away in the near future, southeast of disorder,
You can shake the hand of the mango man
As he greets you at the border.
And the lady she hails from Trinidad,
Island of the spices.
Salt for your meat and cinnamon sweet,
And the rum is for all your good vices.
Haul the sheet in as we ride on the wind that our
Forefathers harnessed before us.
Hear the bells ring as the tide rigging sings.
It's a son of a gun of a chorus.
Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends.
If I knew, I might toss out my anchor.
So I'll cruise along always searchin' for songs,
Not a lawyer, a thief or a banker.
But a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor.
Son of a gun, load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer
I'm just a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor
The sea's in my veins, my tradition remains.
I'm just glad I don't live in a trailer.
|
|
Stashed his trash in Ecuador, bought a good suit of clothes.
Flew on up to Mexico, standin' by the shore.
Waiting for some mystery man, to pay him for his time.
Thinkin' about all the money he made,
couldn't help to ease his mind
Havana daydreamin' oh he's just dreamin' his life away.
Daddy shucked that sugar cane,
One day he fell dead.
Jesus had a wanderin' feelin'
Swimmin around in his head.
Sailin' on a midnight boat,
There were no questions asked,
Water's so green and the air was so clean
That he stuck right to his task, Havana daydreamin',
Oh he's just schemin', his life away.
Ceilin' fan stirs the air
Cigar smoke did swirl,
A fragrance on the pillow case
And he thinks about the girl.
Spillin' wine and sharin' good times
She sure could make him smile.
He pays her well but what the hell
He'll be movin' in a little while, Havana daydreamin',
Havana daydreamin'
Oh he'll be dreamin' his life away.
|
|
I took off for a weekend last month
Just to try and recall the whole year.
All of the faces and all of the places,
wonderin' where they all disappeared.
I didn't ponder the question too long;
I was hungrey and went out for a bite.
Ran into a chum with a bottle of rum,
and we wound up drinkin' all night.
It's those changes in latitudes,
changes in attitudes nothing remains quite the same.
With all of our running and all of our cunning,
If we couldn't laugh, we would all go insane.
These changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes;
Nothing remains quite the same.
Through all of the islands and all of the highlands,
If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane
Reading departure signs in some big airport
Reminds me of the places I've been.
Visions of good times that brought
so much pleasue
makes me want to go back again.
If it suddenly ended tomarrow,
I could somehow adjust to the fall.
Good times and riches and son of a bitches,
I've seen more than I can recall...(to chorus)
I think about Paris when I'm high on red wine;
I wish I could jump on a plane.
And so many nights I just dream of the ocean.
God, I wish I was sailin' again.
Oh, yesturdays are over my shoulder,
So I can't look back for too long.
There's just too much to see waiting in front of me,
and I know that I just can't go wrong
with these...(to chorus)
|
|
Nibblin' on sponge cake,
watchin' the sun bake;
All of those tourists covered with oil.
Strummin' my six string on my front porch swing.
Smell those shrimp--
They're beginnin' to boil.
Wasted away again in Margaritaville,
Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame,
But I know it's nobody's fault.
Don't know the reason,
Stayed here all season
With nothing to show but this brand new tatoo.
But it's a real beauty,
A Mexican cutie, how it got here
I haven't a clue.
Wasted away again in Margaritaville,
Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame,
Now I think,-- hell it could be my fault.
I blew out my flip flop,
Stepped on a pop top;
Cut my heel, had to cruise on back home.
But there's booze in the blender,
And soon it will render
That frozen concoction that helps me hang on.
Wasted away again in Margaritaville
Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame,
But I know, it's my own damn fault.
Yes, and some people claim that there's a woman to blame, And I know it's my own damn fault.
|
|
Now, I don't know, I don't know where I'm a gonna go
when the volcano blow.
Let me say it now,
I don't know, I don't know where I'm a gonna go
when the volcano blow.
Ground, she movin' under me.
Tidal waves out on the sea.
Sulphur smoke up in the sky.
Pretty soon we learn to fly
Chorus
Let me hear you, now
I don't know, I don't know where I'm a gonna go
when the volcano blow.
Let me hear you now.
I don't know, I don't know where I'm a gonna go
when the volcano blow.
My girl quickly say to me,
"Mon you better watch your feet."
Lava come down soft and hot.
"You better lava me now or lava me not.
Chorus
No time to count what I'm worth,
cause I just left the planet Earth.
Where I go I hope there's rhum.
Not to worry mon soon come.
Chorus
But I don't want to land in New York City,
I don't want to land in Mexico.
I don't want to land on no Three Mile Island;
I don't want to see my skin a-glow.
Don't want to land in Comanche Sky Park,
or in Nashville, Tennessee.
I don't want to land in no San Juan airport or
the Yukon Territory.
Don't want to land no San Diego.
Don't want to land in no Buzzards Bay.
I don't want to land on no Ayatolla.
I got nothin' more to say.
Chorus
|
|
Tried to amend my carnivorous habits.
Made it nearly seventy days,
Losin' weight without speed, eatin' sunflower seeds,
Drinkin' lots of carrot juice and soakin' up rays.
But at night I'd have these wonderful dreams
Some kind of sensuous treat.
Not zucchini, fettucini, or bulgar wheat,
But a big warm bun and a huge hunk of meat.
Cheeseburger is paradise.
Heaven on earth with an onion slice.
Not too particular, not too precise.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.
I like mine with lettuce and tomato,
Heinz Fifty-seven and French fried potatoes.
Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer.
Well, good God Almighty, which way do I steer
For my cheeseburger in paradise.
Verse 2:
Heard about the oldtime sailor men,
They eat the same thing again and again;
Warm beer and bread they say could raise the dead.
Well, it reminds me of the menu at a Holiday Inn.
But times have changed for sailors these days.
When I'm in port I get what I need;
Not just Havanas or banana or daiquiris,
But that American creation on which I feed!
Cheeseburger is paradise medium rare with mustard'd be nice
Not too particular, not too precise
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.
I like mine with lettuce and tomato
Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes
Big kosher pickle and a cold draught beer
Well, good god Almighty which way do I steer
For a cheeseburger in paradise
Makin' the best of every virtue and vice.
Worth every damn bit of sacrifice
To get a cheeseburger in paradise;
To be a cheeseburger in paradise.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.
|
|
Now they make new movies in old black and white,
With happy endings, where nobody fights,
So if you find yourself in that nostalgic rage,
Honey, jump right up and show your age.
I wish I had a pencil-thin mustache,
the "Boston Blackie" kind, or a
two-toned Ricky Ricardo jacket,
and an autographed piture of Andy Divine.
Oh, I remember bein' buck toothed and skinny
Writin' fan letters to Sky's niece Penny.
Oh, I wish I had a pencil-thin mustache,
then I could solve some mysteries too.
Oh it's Bandstand, Disneyland, growin up fast,
Drinkin' on a fake I.D.
And Rama of the jungle was everyone's Bawana,
But only jazz musicians were smokin marajuana.
Yeah, I wish I had a pencil-thin mustache,
then I could solve some mysteries too.
But then it's flat-top, dirty bop, copin' a feel'
grubbin on the living room floor;
They send you off to college to try to gain
a little knowledge,
But all you want to do is learn how to score.
Yeah, but now I'm gettin' old, don't wear underwear,
I don't go to church, and I don't cut my hair;
But I can goto movies and see it all there,
Just the way that it use to be.
That's why I wish I had a pencil-thin mustache
the "Boston Blackie" kind, or a
two-toned Ricky Ricardo jacket,
And an autographed picture of Andy Divine.
Oh, I could be anyone I wanted to be,
Maybe suave Eerol Flynn or the Sheik of Araby.
If I only had a pencil-thin mustache,
then I could do some crusing too.
Yeah, Brylcream, a little dab'll do yah,
Oh, I could do some crusing too.
|
|
Headin' up to San Francisco
for the Labor Day weekend show,
I've got my hush-puppies on,
I guess I never was meant for
glitter rock and roll.
And honey I didn't know
that I'd be missin' so.
(Chorus)
Come Monday It'll be all right,
Come Monday I'll be holding you tight.
I spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze
and I just want you back by my side.
Yes it's been quite a summer,
rent-a-cars and west bound trains.
And now your off on vacation,
somethin' you tried to explain.
And darlin' I love you so that's
the reason I just let you go.
Chorus
I can't help it honey,
your that much a part of me now.
Remember the night in Montana when
we said there'd be no room for doubt.
I hope your enjoyin' the scen'ry,
I know that it's pretty up there.
We can go hikin on Tuesday,
with you I'd walk anywhere.
California has worn me quite thin,
I just can't wait to see you again.
End Chorus
|
|
