Memories of Xalapa, Mexican Paradise

The lure of Mexico is indeed a strong one,
Especially if you enjoy indigestible
Stodgy food served at your own risk on half-washed plates.
And, of course, the women, those cute black-eyed darlings
Who will give you a treat in the warm cantina
Of their voluptuously seductive knickers.

I, gran Barry, great English lover and Don Juan,
Famed throughout the civilised world for my bed-skills,
Having spent a pleasant week with some teenage nymphos
In downtown San Diego (at considerable expense),
Decided that better value pussy was required.
Thus I ventured into the dubious charms
Of that Hispanic paradise, tropical Xalapa,
(bravely ignoring the ubiquitous squalor
of its dilapidated architectural achievements).

But, how enchanting! Indeed, how gratifying!
The fame of my amatory reputation and
My handsome visage, topped by my manly tonsure,
(a devastatingly debonair mating plumage
Designed to drive señoritas wild with hot lust)
Preceeded me, and groups of eager macho types
Fought to offer the services of their womenfolk,
And all for just a few hundred measly pesos.
And the sound of a mariachi band broke out,
With gay singers warbling a lovely new anthem
To welcome me to this blest land "de sol y amor".

He's bold Barry el inglés - muff bandit,
the world's greatest lover to date;
When they see him, the girls they all hand it
to Barry, served up warm on a plate.

He's got dozens and dozens of notches
carved on his pistol de amor;
He's poked lots of posh ladies' crutches
And even an occasional whore.

So lock up your daughters, compadres,
el Barry is coming to town;
He's after your hermanas y madres;
their knickers he's sure to pull down.

So impressed by this generous hymn of warm praise
Were one or two young inexperienced pimps, 
That they were willing to loan me their sisters
For a couple of hours, free of pecuniary charge,
Seeing that exposure to my advanced techniques
Would enhance the ladies' future sales value.

However, as is so often the case in my life,
Tragedy struck and, after the deeds were done,
When I declined to say who had been the better lay,
Both these charming señoritas claimed me for their own
And in a terrible knife fight they met their dooms,
Decapitated on the soiled bed in our cheap motel,
Whilst I looked on in sadness at their jealousy,
As I sipped on a tasty chilled Margarita
(but at least they had feasted on my Nirvana).
Ah, if only they had listed to the closing verses
Of that infectious Mexicano melody
As it floated up from the blood-spattered street,
Then they might have lived to poke another day.

Yes, He's Barry el bandido Inglés,
bold muff diver extraordinaire;
gran amante of gay señoritas
and explorer of damp pubic hair.

Though his trousers bring promise of passion,
a warning there needs to be said:
In some dark mysterious fashion,
his lovers all tend to end up dead.