Caribbean Island

Woke up one morning on a Caribbean island
Woke up drunk wishing I were dead
When music from a saxophone it filled up the morning
Worked like fifty aspirins on my head
I asked myself what was a saxophone player
Doin' all the way down here
Down here 'midst the natives in the Caribbean sun
Surrounded by the ocean crystal clear
So I got up out of bed, tried to clear my head
And find the music I heard that morn
Out with the tourists and chiquitas sipping morning margaritas
Was a young man playing on his horn
He'd stroll amidst the tables play his horn like Charlie Parker
Island rhythm section tag along
It seemed to be just impossible to me
So I sat and listened to him all day long
All day long
Later we did talk, I told him if he had to
He should walk to New York City
He could make it if he tried
Later on I heard he took me at my word
He went to New York City, got a habit, and died
Got a habit and died