By: steve goodman, jim rothermel, steve burgh
1977
Down to the banana republics, down to the tropical sun
Go the expatriated americans, hopin’ to find some fun
Some of them go for the sailing, caught by the lure of the sea
Tryin’ to find what is ailing, livin’ in the land of the free
Some of them are running from lovers, leaving no foreward address
Some of them are running tons of ganja
Some are running from the i.r.s.
Chorus:
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 customs
Soon a word of spanish or two
You know that you cannot trust them
’cause they know they can’t trust you
Expatriated americans 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
Chorus:
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
Down to the banana republics, down to the tropical sun
Go the expatriated americans hopin’ to find some fun
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