In Old Mexico

When it's fiesta time in Guada-lajara, Then I long to be back once again In old Mexi-co. Where we lived for today, Never giving a thought to tomara. To the strumming of gui-tars, In a hundred grubby bars I would whisper "te amo." The mari-achis would sere-nade, And they would not shut up till they were paid. We ate, we drank, and we were merry, And we got typhoid and dysen-tery. But best of all, we went to the plaza de toros. Now whenever I start feeling morose, I revive by recalling that scene. And names like belmonte, dominguin, and mano-lete, If I live to a hundred and eighty, I shall never forget what they mean. ALTERNATE CHORDS BACK AND FORTH FOR THIS SPOKE PART (for there is surely nothing more beautiful in this World than the sight of a lone man facing singlehandedly A half a ton of angry pot roast!) Out came the matador, Who must have been potted or Slightly in-sane, but who looked rather bored. Then the picadors of course, Each one on his horse, I shouted "ole!" ev'ry time one was gored. I cheered at the bandil-leros' display, As they stuck the bull in their own clever way, For I hadn't had so much fun since the day My brother's dog rover Got run over. ALTERNATE CHORDS ON THIS SPOKEN PART (rover was killed by a pontiac. and it was done with Such grace and artistry that the witnesses awarded the Driver both ears and the tail - but I digress.) The moment had come, I swallowed my gum, We knew there'd be blood on the sand pretty soon. The crowd held it's breath, Hoping that death Would brighten an otherwise dull after-noon. At last, the matador did what we wanted him to. He raised his sword and his aim was true. In that moment of truth I suddenly knew That someone had stolen my wallet. Now it's fiesta time in ak-ron, ohio, But it's back to old Guadalajara I'm longing to go. Far away from the strikes of the A.F. of L. and C.I.O. How I wish I could get back To the land of the wetback, And forget the Alamo, In old Mexi-co. SHOUT - Ole!