歌曲 | Cowboy In The Jungle - Album Version |
歌手 | Jimmy Buffett |
专辑 | Son Of A Son Of A Sailor |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Buffett | |
Lyrics:Jimmy Buffett Music:Jimmy Buffett | |
There's a cowboy in the jungle | |
And he looks so out of place | |
With his shrimpskin boots and his cheap cheroots | |
And his skin as white as paste | |
Headin' south to Paraguay | |
Where the Gauchos sing and shout | |
Now he's stuck in Porto Bello | |
Since his money all ran out | |
So he hangs out with the sailors | |
Night and day they're raisin' hell | |
And his original destination's just another | |
Story that he loves to tell | |
With no plans for the future | |
He still seems in control | |
From a bronco ride to a ten foot tide | |
He just had to learn to roll | |
Chorus: | |
Roll with the punches | |
Play all of his hunches | |
Make the best of whatever came his way | |
What he lacked in ambition | |
He made up with intuition | |
Plowing straight ahead come what may | |
Steel band in the distance | |
And their music floats across the bay | |
While American women in moomoos | |
Talk about all the things they did today | |
And their husbands quack about fishing | |
As they slug those rum drinks down | |
Discussing who caught what and who sat on his butt | |
But it's the only show in town. | |
Chorus: | |
They're tryin' to drink all the punches | |
They all may lose their lunches | |
Tryin' to cram lost years into five or six days | |
Seems that blind ambition erased their intuition | |
Plowin' straight ahead come what may. | |
I don't want to live on that kind of island | |
No I don't want to swim in a roped off sea | |
Too much for me, too much for me | |
I've got to be where the wind and the water are free. | |
Alone on a midnight passage | |
I can count the falling stars | |
While the Southern Cross and the satellites | |
They remind me of where we are | |
Spinning around in circles | |
Living it day to day | |
And still twenty four hours may be sixty good years | |
It's still not that long a stay. | |
Chorus: | |
We've gotta roll with the punches | |
Learn to play all of our hunches | |
Makin' the best of whatever comes your way | |
Forget that blind ambition | |
And learn to trust your intuition | |
Plowin' straight ahead come what may | |
And there's a cowboy in the jungle |
zuo ci : Buffett | |
Lyrics: Jimmy Buffett Music: Jimmy Buffett | |
There' s a cowboy in the jungle | |
And he looks so out of place | |
With his shrimpskin boots and his cheap cheroots | |
And his skin as white as paste | |
Headin' south to Paraguay | |
Where the Gauchos sing and shout | |
Now he' s stuck in Porto Bello | |
Since his money all ran out | |
So he hangs out with the sailors | |
Night and day they' re raisin' hell | |
And his original destination' s just another | |
Story that he loves to tell | |
With no plans for the future | |
He still seems in control | |
From a bronco ride to a ten foot tide | |
He just had to learn to roll | |
Chorus: | |
Roll with the punches | |
Play all of his hunches | |
Make the best of whatever came his way | |
What he lacked in ambition | |
He made up with intuition | |
Plowing straight ahead come what may | |
Steel band in the distance | |
And their music floats across the bay | |
While American women in moomoos | |
Talk about all the things they did today | |
And their husbands quack about fishing | |
As they slug those rum drinks down | |
Discussing who caught what and who sat on his butt | |
But it' s the only show in town. | |
Chorus: | |
They' re tryin' to drink all the punches | |
They all may lose their lunches | |
Tryin' to cram lost years into five or six days | |
Seems that blind ambition erased their intuition | |
Plowin' straight ahead come what may. | |
I don' t want to live on that kind of island | |
No I don' t want to swim in a roped off sea | |
Too much for me, too much for me | |
I' ve got to be where the wind and the water are free. | |
Alone on a midnight passage | |
I can count the falling stars | |
While the Southern Cross and the satellites | |
They remind me of where we are | |
Spinning around in circles | |
Living it day to day | |
And still twenty four hours may be sixty good years | |
It' s still not that long a stay. | |
Chorus: | |
We' ve gotta roll with the punches | |
Learn to play all of our hunches | |
Makin' the best of whatever comes your way | |
Forget that blind ambition | |
And learn to trust your intuition | |
Plowin' straight ahead come what may | |
And there' s a cowboy in the jungle |
zuò cí : Buffett | |
Lyrics: Jimmy Buffett Music: Jimmy Buffett | |
There' s a cowboy in the jungle | |
And he looks so out of place | |
With his shrimpskin boots and his cheap cheroots | |
And his skin as white as paste | |
Headin' south to Paraguay | |
Where the Gauchos sing and shout | |
Now he' s stuck in Porto Bello | |
Since his money all ran out | |
So he hangs out with the sailors | |
Night and day they' re raisin' hell | |
And his original destination' s just another | |
Story that he loves to tell | |
With no plans for the future | |
He still seems in control | |
From a bronco ride to a ten foot tide | |
He just had to learn to roll | |
Chorus: | |
Roll with the punches | |
Play all of his hunches | |
Make the best of whatever came his way | |
What he lacked in ambition | |
He made up with intuition | |
Plowing straight ahead come what may | |
Steel band in the distance | |
And their music floats across the bay | |
While American women in moomoos | |
Talk about all the things they did today | |
And their husbands quack about fishing | |
As they slug those rum drinks down | |
Discussing who caught what and who sat on his butt | |
But it' s the only show in town. | |
Chorus: | |
They' re tryin' to drink all the punches | |
They all may lose their lunches | |
Tryin' to cram lost years into five or six days | |
Seems that blind ambition erased their intuition | |
Plowin' straight ahead come what may. | |
I don' t want to live on that kind of island | |
No I don' t want to swim in a roped off sea | |
Too much for me, too much for me | |
I' ve got to be where the wind and the water are free. | |
Alone on a midnight passage | |
I can count the falling stars | |
While the Southern Cross and the satellites | |
They remind me of where we are | |
Spinning around in circles | |
Living it day to day | |
And still twenty four hours may be sixty good years | |
It' s still not that long a stay. | |
Chorus: | |
We' ve gotta roll with the punches | |
Learn to play all of our hunches | |
Makin' the best of whatever comes your way | |
Forget that blind ambition | |
And learn to trust your intuition | |
Plowin' straight ahead come what may | |
And there' s a cowboy in the jungle |