Guantanamo Bay

(sung, obviously, to the tune of “Guantanamera”)

There is a place down in Cuba,
Five hundred miles from Aruba.
If in your heart there is terra,
You will wind up rendered there-a.
Kiss good-bye to your wifey,
You’ll be imprisoned for life-y.

Guantanamo Bay
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.
Guantanamo Bay.
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.

You’ll eat the fish with the lemon,
Two types of fruit, like in Yemen.
Of course, the Yankees will beat you,
But at least they will feed you.
Chained by the arms to your bedstead,
You’ll stand with panties on your head.

Guantanamo Bay
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.
Guantanamo Bay.
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.

There’s no due process for you now,
It’s sleep in your own poo for you now.
The torture might be so paining,
But, hey, at least it’s not raining.
Just try to smile through each new flog,
This is America’s Gulag.

Guantanamo Bay
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.
Guantanamo Bay.
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.