IN OLD MEXICO
(spoken) The outpatients are out in force tonight, I see, good!
Now ... I'm sure you're all aware that this week is National
Gallbladder Week and so as sort of an educational feature at this
point I thought I'd acquaint you with some of the results of my
recent researches into the career of the late Doctor Samuel Gall,
inventor of the gallbladder, which certainly ranks as one of the
more important technological advances since the invention of the
joy buzzer and the dribble glass. Dr.Gall's faith in his
inventions was so dramatically vindicated last year, as you no
doubt recall, when for the first time in history in a nationwide
poll the gallbladder was voted among the top ten organs. His
educational career began, interestingly enough, in agricultural
school, where he majored in animal husbandry until they caught
him at it one day whereupon he switched to the field of medicine
in which field he also won renown as the inventor of gargling,
which prior to that time had been practiced only furtively by a
remote tribe in the Andes who passed the secret down from father
to son as part of their oral traditions. He soon became a
specialist, specializing in diseases of the rich. He was
therefore able to retire at an early age. To the land we all
dream about: sunny Mexico of course, the last part of which is
completely irrelevant as was the whole thing, I guess, except
that it is a rather sneaky way of getting into this next type of
popular song which is one of those things about that magic and
romantic land south of the border.
When it's fiesta time in Guadalajara,
Then I long to be back once again in Old Mexico.
Where we lived for today, never giving a thought to tomara.
To the strumming of guitars, in a hundred grubby bars
I would whisper ``Te amo.''
The mariachis would serenade,
And they would not shut up till they were paid.
We ate, we drank, and we were merry,
And we got typhoid and dysentery.
But best of all, we went to the Plaza de Toros.
Now whenever I start feeling morose,
I revive by recalling that scene.
And names like Belmonte, Dominguin, and Manolete,
If I live to a hundred and eighty,
I shall never forget what they mean.
For there is surely nothing more beautiful in this world
Than the sight of a lone man facing single-handedly
a half a ton of angry pot roast!
Out came the matador, who must have been potted or slightly insane,
But who looked rather bored.
Then the picadors of course, each one on his horse,
I shouted "Ole!" he was gored.
(spoken) I cheered at the bandilleros' display,
As they stuck the bull in their own clever way,
For I hadn't had so much fun since the day
My brother's dog Rover got run over.
Rover was killed by a Pontiac.
And it was done with such grace and artistry
That the witnesses awarded the driver
Both ears and the tail -- but I digress.
The moment had come, I swallowed my gum,
We knew there'd be blood on the sand pretty soon.
The crowd held its breath, hoping that death
Would brighten an otherwise dull afternoon.
At last, the matador did what we wanted him to,
He raised his sword and his aim was true.
In that moment of truth I suddenly knew
that someone had stolen my wallet.
Now it's fiesta time in Akron, Ohio,
But it's back to old Guadalajara I'm longing to go.
Far away from the strikes of the A.F. of L. and C.I.O.
How I wish I could get back to the land of the wetback,
And forget the Alamo, in Old Mexico. Ole!
Copyright Tom Lehrer
@Mexican @medicine @animal
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