
Date of issue: 14.06.1960
Song language: English
Guantanamo Bay |
At Guantanamo Bay we’re confined to our quarters |
We’re scratching and sweating, we’re waiting for orders |
We’re watching the harbor, we’re counting the wrecks |
And we’re wondering which we’ll be shipping on nex' |
At Guantanamo Bay, call her Gitmo for short |
Not much of a base, much less of a port |
One look at the docks, and you know that you’re seein' |
The goddamnedest hole in the whole Caribbean |
So, hurrah for old Gitmo on Cuba’s fair shore |
The home of the cockroach, the flea and the whore |
We’ll sing of her praises and pray for the day |
We’ll get the hello out of Guantanamo Bay |
Here you pay twenty cents for a bottle of beer |
They call it Hatuey, and it tastes mighty queer |
There’s the Indian Chief on the label to show |
The Indian sign makes you go, go, go, go |
And the U.S.S. |
Alaska comes steaming in view |
To scrape off her bottom and pick up a crew |
But nary a seaman was fit for the sea |
They’d all been on leave, and they all had VD |
Guantanamo City has hundreds of doors |
And everyone’s jammed with hundreds of whores |
They hang from the windows with stark naked chests |
And knock out your brains with their low-hanging breasts |
Well, the boys in my outfit are workin' a plan |
We’re savin' each nickel and dollar we can |
And we’ll buy T.N.T. |
and one sunshiny day |
We’ll blow up this goddamned Guantanamo Bay |