'Twas the night before Cinco de Mayo, and all through the cabana, No music was playing, not even Santana. All three of our families all slept in one bed, While visions of citizenship danced in our heads.
The salsa was moldy, the tortillas hard, From late nights of studying, to get our green cards. When out by the Pinto, on blocks numbered four, There arose such a clatter, from those Gringos next door.
It was by the dirt driveway, near our chiuwawaw Tia, Looking through boarded windows, we saw Poncho Villa. With a big straw Sombrero, on top of his Head, He wore an old poncho, that was blue, pink, and red.
And next door at the Gringos, on the lawn eating grass, Were seven small donkeys, and one big Jackass. His cheeks looked as chubby, as the day he was born, And beneath his poncho, a prison uniform.
He walked up the driveway, then kicked down the door, He pulled out a gun, and we got on the floor. Jose violently shook, and his skin became cold, He thought that our guest, was the border patrol.
A rusty old toaster, took our welcome Bandito, Wrapped it up in a blanket, like a big beef burrito. We offered him coffee, but he let it pass, He ran out the door, and then jumped on his ass.
The loud scream of sirens, came over the plains, He threw up his sombrero, called his asses by name: "Now, Julio! Now Marcos! Now Carlos and Gui! On Selena! On Jesus! On Miguel and Juan! Shot his gun in the air, and then Poncho was gone.
Later, as we sat on the curb, with a Latino 'Ho, In a police car in cuffs, went our pal Poncho, And he screamed out the window, as he drove out of sight, Happy Cinco de Mayo to all and to all a good night!!!!!
