Chapter III: Teestay

Of tropic sensations, the worst
Is, _sin duda_, the tropical thirst.

When it starts in your throat and constantly grows,
Till you feel that it reaches down to your toes,
When your mouth tastes like fur
And your tongue turns to dust,
There's but one thing to do,
And do it you must,
Drink _teestay_.

_Teestay_, a drink with a history,
A delicious, delectable mystery,
"_Cinco centavos el vaso, señor_,"
If you take one, you will surely want more.

_Teestay, teestay_,
The national drink on a feast day;
How it coolingly tickles,
As downward it trickles,
_Teestay, teestay_.

And you wish, as you take it down at a quaff,
That your neck was constructed à la giraffe.
_Teestay, teestay_.