Banana Republic, Jimmy Buffet, 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, 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 senoritas, 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, They know they can’t trust you.
Expatriated American feelin‘ so all alone,
Telling themselves the same lies,
That they told themselves back home.
[BREAK]
Down to the Banana Republics, Things aren’t as warm as they seem,
None of the natives are buying, any second hand American dreams,
