Caborca 2011 pt. 2

Thanks to Amy for her brilliant rhyming skills, and our partnership throughout the week which provided most of the inspiration for this song.

Caborca… in 27 verses

(to the tune of the “Gilligan’s Island” theme)

The time had come to take a trip;

The van was piled high.

Pointed ourselves toward Mexico

And prayed we wouldn’t die.

Permisso lines and sleeping bags,

New friends to make… or not,

Bonded by puke beside the road

At a 50 cent pit stop.

No passing lanes and yellow lines-

We prayed for lots of luck.

Started to wonder when the middle van

Got slammed by a semi truck.

A customs point came mid-way through

Our 3-4 hour tour.

A nice U-turn to the USA –

A 14 hour detour.

“I hate my life” was the refrain

When the trailer was cleared out.

But Captain Kirk, he led the crew

And so we didn’t pout.

“Just go straight” the directions said.

When the fork came, we chose West.

Found ourselves in Hermosillo,

Realized that wasn’t the best.

Turned around and missed a cow

And the crack head as he roamed,

While the other vans, they kissed each other,

And then hit traffic cones.

‘Twas 8pm when the first arrived.

‘Twas 5 once all were here,

Falling upon the tile floor

Amid their piles of gear.

Construction was the morning’s task.

Blueprints – there were none.

Some concrete here, a big nail there.

As long as it gets done!

With talk of screws and getting wood,

No space to turn around,

A wall to build and power tools –

Just don’t come falling down!

As pot fumes float across the wall

The morning gets more fun

We’re climbing walls and dropping things

And still this isn’t done!

Escuela Biblica time is here.

Let’s test our Spanish skills.

With promises of answers soon

And the best sex – what thrills!

Then sickness came and struck some down.

Contesta Bill’s in bed.

Is Opera Sean just sleeping there?

I hope he isn’t dead.

Beans for breakfast, beans for lunch,

Beans for dinner too.

The food looks great, now say a prayer,

And go wash your hands too.

Friendship bracelets, duct tape bags,

Amid our sweat and stink.

The smell is getting worse each day,

But we shower in the sink.

The week wears on, the tensions come.

Loud voices at break of day.

We almost reach a boiling point –

Chris rubs it all away.

How long ago did we all meet?

Has it only been a week?

I’ll tell you ‘bout the sex I’ve had,

And watch you while you sleep.

Do a wood dance, drink horchata,

What’s this milky drink?

Conversations in Caborca

Are not what you think!

Inhaling sawdust, cement showers,

Nails into our feet,

Fiberglass between our boobs,

And still we won’t be beat.

With sandpaper and hammer swings,

This window WILL behave!

And now this classroom’s taking shape

From what was a cave.

Shower time has now arrived,

Don’t flush or I will scream.

Just make sure we all take one

And all smell like a dream!

Out to dinner, lots of salsa,

Guac, and other dips.

Turns out that when it’s the real deal,

Sadly there aren’t chips.

Drink sangria, eat your onions,

(Seems this one’s a boy?)

Eat intestines, lick your fingers

Remember-food’s a toy!

Driving home now – is it over?

Rolled through that stop sign

“You alto-ed like a Mexican!”

Right into a customs line.

What will we do now – there are showers!

Toilet paper too!

No more beans for every meal,

And we have beds here too!

So we’ll remember our last sunset,

Standing in the park.

Prayers with friends both new and old

Until its time to part.

We’ve got stories, lots of pictures

Spanglish in our heads

New friends to stalk in Facebook land

And memories of Caborca!