A place in Santa Ana called the Mission Lounge,
is where lonely Marines can often be found.
My car’s in Montana, and I’m ridin’ the bus,
back home my girl says it’s the end of us.
Barmaid pours drinks, my spirits run low,
Lance Corporal pay is easy to blow.
“Where ya’ from Marine?” purrs a sultry voice.
she sure ain’t no queen, like I got a choice.
“The Montana prairie, where the antelope roam,
you must wear a parka, if you call it home.”
From her ruby red lips ‘neath watery eyes,
she gave some advice that sounded so wise.
“I can tell you were raised on sheep dip and mud,
ya’ don’t even know y’er kind of a stud.
There’s good work in Cali at factory jobs,
beats diggin’ in dirt with them country slobs.
Ya’ oughta’ just stay, I’ll help find a way,
Twenty Dollars a day, is pretty good pay.”
“I’m sure you mean well, this is no place to dwell,
it’s like livin’ in Hell with this putrid air smell.
“Y’er just a Mama’s boy,” she says lookin’ coy,
it’s some kind of ploy, to make me her toy.
“I’m gonna’ head up North, to harvest the wheat,
celebrate the Fourth, that’d be kinda’ neat.”
“You got nuthin’ to fear, you can stay right here,
I’ll buy all your beer, if you just call me dear.”
I start to get a frown, ain’t about to settle down,
if I hang around, in her charms I could drown.
“It’s been quite fun, but I gotta’ run,
last bus is at One, my night here is done.’
“Let me give you a ride, my car is outside.”
I swallowed my pride, did I get shanghaied?
We make for El Toro, like there’s no tomorrow,
alone in her sorrow, my heart she won’t borrow.
Now I ain’t sophisticated and I ain’t all that smooth,
suffice it to say, I never made a move.
No romance would begin, wouldn’t see her again.
I never took that spin, never jumped right in.
Coulda’ woulda’ shoulda’s are a big part life,
I hope she became a better man’s wife.
LDT August 11. ‘21
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Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies 