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(Timothy Brickley & David Rheins)

I was with Bobby Dylan, we were at the Cabana,
singing songs for Greenpeace, sailing for Havana.
We were representatives of the Youth Culture,
as it’s manifested itself in these days of corporate sponsors,
dazed and confused on the Caribbean seas,
seized by the madness of the music, if you please,
making waves while the warships waited
down in the harbor.

I was with Allen Ginsberg at Groovy’s Hideaway,
harboring ill feelings from the previous day.
He was drinking his Cuba Libre
underneath the bamboo when that
shady guy named Groovy moved though and through.
After sampling his product, we shuffled away and blew
with the boys in the band from Columbus,

I tell her I speak No English in a broken Spanish manner
she just smiles and invites me inside her cabana
Fucky-fucky, she coos, knowing it worked in the last war
I grab my drink and praise the Lord for keeping me sober

At The Treetop Hotel with Scotty The Sailor,
we discussed our voyage across the bloody water.
He advised us to bring supplies under cover of darkness.
We said goodbye, he said goodbye, but we knew we’d see him later.
And later on in the alley, he hit me up for more dinero,
he was drunk in the eyes hanging with some local heroes.
We gave him all our money and expected never to see him again,
nor those boys in the band from Columbus,

Copyright 1991, Timothy Brickley & David Rheins.