| 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 |