Written By: Barry P. Foley
Copyright © 2 Oct 2021

 Hiding out in Veracruz, on the Gulf of Mexico
After a year on the run, I arrived four months ago
I beat up a crooked Dallas cop, something he had coming
At 3 am, banging on my door sent me running

I bought a stolen German passport from a hooker in Brownsville
The age and picture were close enough, so we cut a deal
I learned to speak a little German when I was over there in Army
Figured it was good enough to fool the average Federales

Got a job working on the docks after the sun goes down
They didn’t ask no questions, no one else around
I go by Otto Fischer, the name on my stolen papers
It sounds like the number 8 in Spanish, and they laugh when I say it

 I’m keeping my footprint  small; I don’t  mind being a  loner
I got a  room above a  bar, longing to a Peruvian  owner
I  help him clean up the  joint at  daylight when he bars the door
And his sister cooks us  breakfast; we go upstairs for a little  more

 There’s a new gringo hanging around the bars; I’ve seen him a time or two
 He’s buying drinks and asking questions,  things a cop might do
 Time to head south to Guatemala,  or something of the sort
 With 2000 pesos stuffed in my boot and my stolen German passport