| Down to the Banana Republics
|
| Down to the tropical sun
|
| Go the expatriated American
|
| Hopin' to find some fun
|
| Some of them go for the sailing
|
| Brought by the lure of the sea
|
| Tryin' to find what is ailing
|
| Living in the land of the free
|
| Some of them are running to lovers
|
| Leaving no forward address
|
| Some of them are running tons of ganja
|
| Some are running from the IRS
|
| Late at night you will find them
|
| In the cheap hotels and bars
|
| Hustling the senioritas
|
| While they dance beneath the stars
|
| Spending those renegade pesos
|
| on a bottle of rum and a lime
|
| Singin' give me some words I can dance to
|
| Or a melody that rhymes
|
| First you learn the native custom
|
| Soon a word of Spanish or two
|
| You know that you cannot trust them
|
| Cause they know they can’t trust you
|
| Expatriated American feelin' so all alone
|
| Telling themselves the same lies
|
| that they told themselves back home
|
| Down to the Banana Republics
|
| Things aren’t as warm as they seem
|
| None of the natives are buying
|
| any second hand American dreams
|
| Late at night you will find them
|
| In the cheap hotels and bars
|
| Hustling the senioritas
|
| while they dance beneath the stars
|
| Spending those renegade pesos
|
| On a bottle of rum and a lime
|
| Singing give me some words I can dance to
|
| Or a melody that rhymes
|
| Down to the Banana Republics
|
| Down to the tropical sun
|
| Go the expatriated Americans
|
| Hopin' to find some fun |