Chapter II: Los Cigarillos

This is the land of the dark-eyed _gente_,
Of the _dolce far niente_,
Where we dream away
Both the night and day,
At night-time in sleep our dreams we invoke,
Our dreams come by day through the redolent smoke,
As it lazily curls,
And slowly unfurls
From our lips,
And the tips
Of our fragrant _cigarillos_.
For life in the tropics is only a joke,
So we pass it in dreams, and we pass it in smoke,
Smoke--smoke--smoke.

Tropical constitutions
Call for occasional revolutions;
But after that's through,
Why there's nothing to do
But smoke--smoke;

For life in the tropics is only a joke,
So we pass it in dreams, and we pass it in smoke,
Smoke--smoke--smoke.