Down by the Caribbean where nothing's free an'

Manana's still manana.

Those sultry Latin mamas and those Bahamas

Are there, but I don't wanna.


Without air pollution humidity soars.

There's no unemployment, just pushers and whores.

The climate is gorgeous. It never gets cold.

A heaven on earth for the fat and the old.


They lie there and sweat while the days come and go.

And finally forget that there's elsewhere to go.

But me, I remember and mournfully think.

I can't get my license. It walks me to drink.


The food's not so hot, but it sure beats the service.

Whatever I've got, Lord, it sure makes me nervous.

And wherever I roam, wheresoever I romp.

I want to go home from my home by the swamp.


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