STOLEN GERMAN PASSPORT
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