[Intro: droning mandolin, marching kick drum] [Verse 1] Aguacate means avocado, it's the only joke in town, A dirt strip on a plateau where the old birds come down, The C-123 was old enough to vote in eighty-five, And Johnny flew her like a duster just to keep us all alive. [Verse 2] A match came up out of the jungle, and I yelled "SAM! Left side!" And Johnny stood her on her wing, and the missile went on by, He came on the intercom, calm as ordering breakfast: "Everybody still back there, Sarge? Well, don't just stand around. We got a drop to make." [Chorus] Oh, Danlí, Danlí, Dirt floor and a jukebox playing about a horse, Oh, Danlí, Danlí, I hit him once, and I never hit him before. [Verse 3] I slept nine months in a mud hut with a roof of thatch and sticks, And something came down in the night and bit me on the face, Twenty years later a doctor said, son, that was a kissing bug, There's been something living in your heart since eighty-five, eating it a little at a time. [Verse 4] The rifles came from a Syrian in a beautiful suit, Thin brown cigarettes and a watch of gold, "A rifle has no politics, Mr. Morgan." I drank his Scotch. I did what I was told. Johnny sat outside in the jeep and wouldn't shake his hand. "You don't have to." "You did." [Chorus] Oh, Danlí, Danlí, Dirt floor and a jukebox playing about a horse, Oh, Danlí, Danlí, I hit him once, and I never hit him before. [Verse 5] Saturday in May, a man called Tigre in the corner, Telling it loud, and his men were laughing along, Johnny set his beer down careful, and I saw his hand was steady, And he walked across that bar, and Tigre's chair went over. [Verse 6] Out in the street he was crying and he didn't know it, "You'd work for the devil if he paid in cash, Every time I ask her, you're standing right there." I hit him in the mouth. He went down in the mud. And lying there, he started to laugh: "Well. That answers that." [Chorus] Oh, Danlí, Danlí, Dirt floor and a jukebox playing about a horse, Oh, Danlí, Danlí, I hit him once, and I never hit him before. [Outro verse: slow] Next week his bunk was stripped and his flight bag gone, A pack of Black Jack on my cot, they'd quit making it long ago, Maybe it meant no hard feelings. Maybe it meant chew on that. With Johnny it could've been either one. [Outro: drone, kick drum stops] [End]
