When The Hooch Runs Out
Many ladies walking on the boardwalk, dancing to the music, swaying to the beat. I’m eating food, listening, watching, getting used to it, dealing with the heat.
The wind blowing across the water, the sand in the air, the sun beating down, while the breeze tosses my hair. Ambling down through the bamboo town, sampling the wha-tita, walking all around, moving with the sound.
Ah, the water sways me, placing me into the surrounding fish schools I see, rocking me back and forth, like a I was on a sea horse. I feel so cool, my mouth still drools, for the taste of the red snapper, and the squid supplied by the sea side trapper.
Into the water he drops a clay amphora, pulling up large crab, and eel for the food store. Sometimes a sea bass, sometimes a lobster, without any bait, are taken every day.
Many ladies, many bodies, many thin bathing suits; go on dancing, continue prancing, while a five string bands plays the reed flutes. The tide is rising, the scene is thriving, there is gold on the hill, oh what a thrill.
The lines are forming, money is moving, when gold fills the room, before the hooch runs out at noon. The little man is smiling, many in the line are sighing, while so many are buying before the hooch runs out at noon.