Song parody of
Cuban Crime of Passion
by Jimmy Buffett
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Well now Billy Voltaire was a Piano player, up from Miami way.
He used to play in the bars, he could should like the stars,
And the Lady's would pay and pay.
Well one night, he did wind up
Playin' in Havana town.
And nobody knew, least Billy Voltaire that these were his final sounds
He met up with Marita, a dancer in from the coast.
Half woman, half child, she drove him half wild
He loved that lady the most.
Well one night, he did find her
In the arms of Shrimper Dan
So Billy pulled out a knife, took poor Danny's life,
And then he turned his own cold hand.
[Chorus]
It's just a Cuban crime of passion,
Messy and old fashioned.
Yeah, that's what the papers did say.
It's just a Cuban crime of passion,
Anjejo and knives a slashin'.
Yeah but that's what the people like to read about,
Up in America, up in America.
Well they never found Marita,
Some people say she got ill.
Billy Voltaire had no one to claim him,
He was buried on pauper's hill.
And no one talks about 'em no more,
It happned just a week ago.
But people get by and people get high,
In the tropics, they come in they go.
[Chorus]
Up in America
Well now Billy Voltaire was a Piano player, up from Miami way.
He used to play in the bars, he could should like the stars,
And the Lady's would pay and pay.
Well one night, he did wind up
Playin' in Havana town.
And nobody knew, least Billy Voltaire that these were his final sounds
He met up with Marita, a dancer in from the coast.
Half woman, half child, she drove him half wild
He loved that lady the most.
Well one night, he did find her
In the arms of Shrimper Dan
So Billy pulled out a knife, took poor Danny's life,
And then he turned his own cold hand.
[Chorus]
It's just a Cuban crime of passion,
Messy and old fashioned.
Yeah, that's what the papers did say.
It's just a Cuban crime of passion,
Anjejo and knives a slashin'.
Yeah but that's what the people like to read about,
Up in America, up in America.
Well they never found Marita,
Some people say she got ill.
Billy Voltaire had no one to claim him,
He was buried on pauper's hill.
And no one talks about 'em no more,
It happned just a week ago.
But people get by and people get high,
In the tropics, they come in they go.
[Chorus]
Up in America
