Jimmy Buffett – 15 Cuban Minutes (Guitar)

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Fifteen Cuban minutes, fairly safe to say,

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can feel more like an hour   or the entire day.

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In the land where time means nothing, not hard to slip away,

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El Diablo baila sábado, y los curas on Sunday.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes, the end is out of sight;

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so I'll meet you by the cannon on the the   Malecón tonight.

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It started in Havana in nineteen-twenty-one,

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on the schooner Chiquimula where a party had begun.

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Primer cumpleaños, for a tiny lad at sea,

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and in my heart is still that faded photo of JD.

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Signal flags were flying atop the entire fleet,

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while the rhumba band from Santiago played the birthday boy to sleep.

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That's the tale was told to me, a seadog nursery rhyme,

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and the music that was handed down from a long forgotten time.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes get lost in the fog,

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life's a test, just do your best, like a   three-legged dog.

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In the land where time means nothing, you can often lose your mind;

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now place your bets, or better yet, just join a conga line.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes can turn night into day;

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they're dancing on the tables   down at El Frente.

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Another entry in the log, my mind put to a test,

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when we sailed with the Hemmingways on a schooner from Key West.

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They'd come to make a movie about long forgotten times;

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see old friends, drink some rum and visit family shrines.

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So, how the hell did we wind up, just tagging right along?

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They were looking for a soundtrack and heard one of my songs.

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So, I sang Havana Daydreamin', just me and my guitar,

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to some very stern KGB-guys, trying to blend in at the bar.

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So for fifteen Cuban minutes, la bodega did ignite;

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bongos y tumbadoras   kept us up all night.

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Mojitos by the minute, the crowd stacked at the door;

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niños, dogs, and roosters frolicked on the floor.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes,   lots of give and take;

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birthdays always come and go but   not a birthday cake.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes are easy to embrace,

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no calendars or watch to wind, no schedules to chase.

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In the land where time means nothing this phrase it cries, "Delay!"

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Put it on a tee shirt and everyone will pay.

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Quince minutos Cubanos, dejace la drama;

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aqui no hay AC solo la ventana.

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The Greeks and Egyptians had sundials in the sand,

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now we have atomic clocks that measure the Big Bang.

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Still I prefer the simple way, let's take it to the street;

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more walking and less talking, tap time with your feet.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes still stands the test of time,

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like a Salas photograph or   Kenneth Patchen rhyme.

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If you're looking for a launchpad, no news, just hearsay,

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don't bother with the WiFi, fuck Siri, ask Jose!

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Fifteen Cuban minutes, there's no end in sight;

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I'll meet you by the cannon on the the   Malecón tonight.