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I used to watch "Highway Patrol" Whittlin' with my knife But the thought never struck me I'd be black and white for life I was raised on law and order I a community of strife Became a restless boarder And I never took a wife.
I went lookin' for Khaddafi Aboard Air Force One But I never did find him And the C.I.A. said Son, You'll never be a hero Your flyin' days are done It's time for you to go home now Stop sniffin' that smokin' gun.
I was travellin' with my family In the Mideast late one night In the hotel all was quiet The kids were out like little lights Then the street was filled with jeeps There was an explosion to the right They chanted "Death to America" I was feelin' like a fight.
So I ran downstairs And out into the street Someone kicked me in the belly Someone else kissed my feet I was Rambo in the disco I was shootin' to the beat When they burned me in effigy My vacation was complete.
De vacaciones por Oriente Próximo
Me gustaba ver "Patrulla de carretera" (*) mientras tallaba con mi cuchillo, y la imagen no se me ha borrado. La vida es o blanco o negro y me he mantenido dentro de la ley y el orden en una comunidad en lucha, de la que he llegado a ser un incansable miembro. Y ni tan siquiera me he casado.
Buscando a Khaddafi me subía al Air Force One pero nunco llegué a encontrármelo. Y la C.I.A. me dijo un día: "Hijo nunca serás un héroe. Tus días de vuelo se han acabado. Es hora de que te vayas a casa y dejes de esnifar el humo de esa pistola".
Viajando con mi familia por Oriente Próximo, era de noche, en el hotel todo estaba en calma y los críos se iban quedando dormidos (*) cuando la calle se llenó de Jeeps y hubo una explosión a la derecha seguida de la cantilena "Muerte a América". Me sentí como un combatiente.
Así que bajé las escaleras y salí a la calle. Un desconocido me golpeó en el vientre y otro besó mi pie. Era Rambo en la discoteca, en plena batida. Cuando le prendieron fuego a mi efigie ya no le pude pedir más a mis vacaciones.
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