Hey senorita with the cinnamon skin,
sway like the desert wind—
I’m just a traveler lost in the roll of your hips,
gold coins in your scarf tell tales with every slip.
Drum talks, heart walks,
I follow the orbit your body chalks;
moon rises in your navel’s eclipse,
I pray to that light with my fingertips.
Bananza, bananza,
spin the world into a trance—ya;
stop time, drop rhyme,
just move, girl, and I’ll be the bassline.