Wednesday, December 10, 2008


Sitting on a beach somewhere
With Merle Haggard and Willy Nelson
Sand between our toes and
Hair in our eyes from hurricane breezes
Sipping on coconut rum
We pretend we’re pirates under the sun

Living on dreams, reminiscing other times
Pretending that legends never die
Newman and Redford ride into the picture
Six guns blazing, horses at full gallop
We trade in our rum for whisky and
Our surf boards for saddles
We ride the western wind
Like we rode the southern squalls

We trade in the guns and glory
All for a peacefuller scene
Up in a tree with a girl
A garden party below us
And a handsome man with pockets full
Of champagne, we can't remember his name
Because there is Bogart, the dark and quiet type
Setting our feminine hearts to pounding
We'd follow him Casablanca, we'd follow him
To the ends of the earth

Until we find ourselves back on our beach
When the radio switches from Nelson to McGraw
And we realize that legends never do die
They live on in the generations that come after
The pelvic thrusts and the cool badboy smiles
Prestley and Dean survive in the hips of our modern man
But they started it and it will forever be remembered
That some things are ageless and will live on eternally.

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