Domino College

by Jimmy Buffett and Dan Fogelberg

from the album Bars


Lyrics

Found myself a matchbook
Beside some hotel bed
Opened it up and looked inside
And this is what it said

Get on back to school
Domino college, back to school
Boneyard of knowledge
Working vacation in a third world nation
Back to school

Fly down to miami
Get yourself a boat
Fill it full of suntan oil
And rent yourself a goat

Ain’t no registration
Ain’t no student loan
You may not learn to read or write
But you will surely learn to roll them bones

Get on back to school
Domino college, back to school
Boneyard full of knowledge
Working vacation in a third world nation
Back to school

They don’t rap your knuckles
If you cut the class
They just track you through the jungle boy
Then they kick your ass

It’s a different kind of domino theory
They teach you down in Butler town
If you lose you buy the booze
And then the student body all falls down

They can’t get back to school
Domino college, back to school
Fountain of knowledge
Working vacation in a third world nation
Back to school
Get on back

Make your parents hate you
Be a big disgrace
Act just like a domino
And fall on your face

You can’t get back to school
Domino college, back to school
Fountain of knowledge
There ain’t no graduation from this kind of education
Back to school
Working vacation in a third world nation
Back to school

Spoken -
Oh, Jan & Dean be true to your school
Big six, big six, whose got it?
Goddamn Robert when you gonna play man,
hey man, say, you know whose turn it is

Jimmy’s Note:

One of those winters back in the early eighties, Dan Fogelberg showed up in St. Barts, and we took off south aboard that grand old yacht Escapade. The night before, my guitar had been stolen out of my car, and of course we had been inspired by events of the week and wanted to write songs. Now our trip had a mission. We picked up some leads in the marketplace in Charlestown, the main city on the island of Nevis, which led us to the hills to Butlertown, where we met a man who made guitars. On the way to his home, we passed a roadside shed with a cold beer sign and the words “Domino College” painted on a piece of driftwood. I sat in for a few games and was given a quick education by the old men seated around the table. That night, as we lay at anchor under the cliffs below Brimstone Hill listening to the monkeys jabbering in the trees, we stared this song. I have often thought I might like to go back down to Domino College and get my master’s degree.